Bands of Black and Blue
by Classically Cliche
Summary: There is something about you that makes me willing to withstand the pain of both distance and time.  But when all else falls away, you can remember that you once had me.  30themes with Aomine/Kuroko - varying between close friendship and strong romance.
1. seamlessly we begin anew

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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an aomine/kuroko anthology { _3oprompts_ } _by_ classically cliche

format filched from _dreamz_ ; prompts _inspired_ by 52flavorsLJ

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o1 : seamlessly we begin anew

Although the summer sessions have already started, the Teikou locker rooms are as deserted as they'll ever be. There are a couple students, meandering in their lost little paths, they could be first years - or third years - it would hardly make a difference.

He towers over everyone else, number five jersey defiantly tossed over his undershirt, striding into the kingdom that used to be his own.

It makes sense, he reasons, because in a few short weeks, he will be attending high school, will naturally make first string on his team and go on to crush many futilely-fighting opponents. And he will do it alone, because he is the Ace of the Generation of Miracles and he does not need anyone.

'Aomine-kun,' he hears, snapping his head in the direction of the voice. There's a short little boy - bright blue eyes and mop of blue hair - and he looks nothing like _him_ and Aomine refuses to think of the similarities because they do not exist.

All the same, he reaches his hand forth, attempting to grasp what he could never have.

"Traitor," he grinds out, believing every syllable.

The illusion vanishes faster than he can blink, and Aomine Daiki of the Generation of Miracles is left standing alone in his old locker room, closed fist around nothing but air, while the other athletes (who are here, no doubt, for summer training) awkwardly make their way around him.

"Excuse me," a nameless face in the crowd asks a neigh-invisible bystander. "Are you a student here at Teikou?"

There is a ghost of a smile, fluttering past his lips, before Kuroko Tetsuya politely shakes his head. "Not anymore, anyways," he replies - the same wispy expression on his face - before turning away. The Teikou student is unable - although he is impelled - to pose a single question, standing in silence as he watches - what he supposes to be his senior - make his way out of the middle school locker rooms.

It is a typical act of hubris, Aomine later thinks (after he refuses to believe his eyes), for a criminal to return to the scene of the crime.

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	2. coloring in your eyes

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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o2: coloring in your eyes

"You are completely inebriated," Kuroko notes with the slightest air of distaste, wrinkling his nose as the pungent alcoholic vapors make their way through the shared dormitory room.

"Like - Like you would - knoooow..." Aomine slurs, pausing to shrug off his jacket and wiggle out of his sneakers. He then flops ungracefully onto the floor, missing the living room's plush couch by a good three feet.

"Ow."

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko begins - about to berate, about to remind. Then he sighs, because Momoi has only been calling all afternoon and it really is none of his business. So he bites down on his tongue, gently, before turning around to close the thrown-open door, stooping to pick up the wildly-strewn shoes and clothes.

"What?" his roommate mutters out, cheek pressed comically against the carpet. When Kuroko does not respond, Aomine makes a sound between a grunt and a laugh, his once-closed eyes snapping open to reveal their hazy dark-blue depths. "S'funny, you know?" he drawls out, while Kuroko gazes impassively towards his fool of a roommate. "Out of everyone on the team, you're the only one whose got a name... got a name tha... that won't match."

"Match...?" Kuroko echoes, even as he's striding across the small room, opening their shared closet to retrieve a bottle of water.

"Your name - eyes - hair," the other mumbles out, turning his head the other way. Kuroko laughs, quietly, before setting down the bottle next to Aomine.

"You should drink more," he advises, taking the initiative to uncap the water bottle. "It'll be easier to get the alcohol out of your system that way."

His statement makes sense, Kuroko knows. Aomine Daiki is far too drunk to be listening to any sort of sense, this he also knows. So he sighs and walks over to the couch, water bottle in-hand, sitting himself across his fellow basketball player. There is a smile twinkling in his eyes, and Aomine thinks - in his alcohol-induced stupor - that is it quite pretty, even though Tetsu is surely laughing at him.

"Drink?" Kuroko repeats, as Aomine's mouth childishly falls open, allowing the water to dribble in - most of it makes its way down his jaw, but he dutifully swallows what he can.

"They're mine," Aomine declares, after he has gotten through half the bottle, cheek still touching the floor. Absentmindedly, Kuroko runs his fingers through trademark navy-blue locks. Aomine sighs against the touch, face attempting to force a lop-sided smile. Kuroko almost laughs, then and there.

"Your eyes... your hair," the other heedlessly continues, turning entirely on his side to face Kuroko. "They're mine," he repeats, catching the hand that was on his head. Kuroko blinks and Aomine does the same. 'There is a hand in mine,' he seems to have just noticed, 'and now what shall I do with it?'

"Aomine-kun, what will Momoi-san think?" Kuroko asks as wet lips trace shallow patterns in his palm.

"Don't know..." Aomine replies, letting go of the others hand. His cheeks are as dark as ever, the alcohol, Kuroko notices, seems to have had no effect whatsoever on them. But when Aomine raises himself to his knees without giving Kuroko any time to react, his unblinking eyes give no hint of intoxication, even as they are descending upon his roommate, such a particular shade of blue - Kuroko thinks, while closing his own.

"Mine," he states again, while Kuroko tastes the bitter tang of sweat and alcohol - diluted with water.

"That's enough," Kuroko says in the split second it takes for him to regain his senses. He pushes the taller one away, once-weak arms filled suddenly with force, raising himself off of the couch with no small amount of effort. In the haste of getting to his bed, Kuroko knocks over the uncapped bottle of water; naturally, it spills and spreads across the room.

Aomine stares at the spreading puddle for a bit, before Kuroko turns out the lights.

They never speak of the night again, though Aomine does not drunkenly stumble in ever again - not that it would matter, as Kuroko makes it point to be asleep whenever Aomine returns. And for that ephemeral moment, Aomine thinks, he saw gap of space of between 'blue' and 'black', before it was no more.


	3. needing no one

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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o3 : needing no one

The fear manifests itself in their second year of middle school.

It starts off as a little niggling question, in the back of his head: 'why, out of everyone in Teikou's long and prestigious basketball history, would the captain of the Dream Team choose _you_ to be on the team?'. And it is a very good question, and one that he is unable to provide a proper answer to. Yes, he can pass and run and do exercises like the rest of the first string players, but he is - all the same - fundamentally different.

"You can't dunk, you can't do a layup, your dribbling _sucks_," Aomine tells him bluntly after their first game together. "I have no idea what sorta strings your parents must've pulled to get you into first string, but you're not going to be able to actually _play_, you know?"

Kuroko flushes deeply in response, fingers fumbling with the pass he was just given.

The next game, Akashi snaps his fingers, and just-like-that, Kuroko is allowed full control over his own passes, making use of his lack of presence to properly misdirect all the other players. Pass after pass after pass - it's not just one or two or three, but _all_. And while the adrenaline and excitement and coursing _love_ of basketball is a reward in and of itself, the best thing about that particular practice was seeing Aomine's expression after the game was over (a neat and tidy 42-12).

"Sorry," the other mumbles, face painted red with exertion and embarrassment. Kuroko turns his head, because he is not the type of easily forgive.

Aomine buys him an ice cream - 'My treat,' he recalls the other saying, before tossing the wrapped goodie five feet too far - after the next practice, and they sit around and legitimately talk strategy for the remainder of the afternoon. Of course it is Aomine doing most of the talking, but in terms of strategy, Kuroko can confidently say he was the one with most of it.

"Strategy?" he remembers Aomine whining, pinky perpetually stuck in one ear, "Strategy is for _wimps_. I don't need strategy; I've got my shots and your passes. We make an unbeatable team!"

The bursting confidence that Aomine seemed to so easily _exude_ was quite charming when it was directed right at him, Kuroko thinks.

All the same, he busies himself with strategy guides and sitting in the Teikou basketball room with the captain, watching recordings of their own matches and practices, desperately running over every incessant detail, until he can practically tap out the sound of sneakers squeaking against the well-waxed floor. Sometimes Midorima stops by, although Akashi snidely point out that it's for the sole purpose of preening at his own miraculous three-pointers, but never Aomine.

When Akashi verbally makes note of this to Kuroko - raising an eyebrow and pressing the fast-forward button - the 'shadow' of the Generation of Miracles simply shrugs and replies that the strategizing is simply his share of the partnership.

Akashi shrugs and says no more.

The next time, however, he brings Kise onto the basketball team, implies using only the most silk-laden words in their language that it is very likely that the blonde bombshell (who, Murasakibara snidely remarks, looks more fitted to be trying out swimsuits than playing basketball) will not only quickly ascend the ranks, but that he will be given a spot on the regulars.

Kise reminds him of Aomine: initial anger at Kuroko's position in the basketball team, and then eventual understanding and some degree of overly-enthusiastic friendship. But Kise is different from Aomine in one aspect - one fatal aspect - and that is that he does not believe in the flawless machine of a player Akashi has oiled and greased the five of them to become. His eyes are quite easily the fastest on the team, and true to Akashi's prediction, he is made a regular within two months of being on the basketball team (a record beaten only by... everyone else on the Generation of Miracles, Kuroko dryly informs his fake-sobbing teammate). But he does not stop believing in the 'individual'.

"C'mon, Kurokocchi!" Kise pouts, as Kuroko passes - flawlessly, as per usual - to Aomine. "You're so close to the basket! You could at least _try_ to make it in!"

"Shut up Ryou," Aomine pleasantly retorts.

"Yes," Midorima remarks, as the buzzer sounds and the victory - but of course - goes to their school, "After all, why trifle with the possibility of two points when, with a guaranteed pass you'll be able to make a guaranteed basket?" It's sound logic, except for the fact that he assumes that Aomine's two points are Kuroko's two points as well.

Which, Kuroko knows, they are not.

And so, he is left to worry about being replaced, with each new wave of enthused underclassmen, who seem to appear every couple months or so - what with Teikou's uncontested victory in each of the league tournaments. It is a silly fear, he knows, because it is not as if he is a poor basketball player - it is not as if he is inexperienced, or lazy, or lacking any love of the sport.

Aomine, on the other hand, begins to embody all three characteristics, with each effortless basket made, with the gap between their team and the losing team growing larger and larger with each subsequent game. It is only natural, Midorima remarks, as the three of them - Kise and Kuroko, of course - stroll down towards their homes after a practice match against another school.

This is the turning point in their partnership: where, at the fifteen-second mark (when the cheering of the crowd has all but died down because the winner is so blindingly _obvious_), instead of passing to Kuroko to pass back to him, Aomine simply charges down the line - and although the defense makes a paltry effort at stopping him, they ultimately do not have a chance in a million of stopping the powerhouse of the Generation of Miracles.

And in the midst of the festivities and celebrations - Momoi has gone all out this time - Kuroko laughs, low and bitter (because this is the natural solution that he had not been expecting), because... 'Irreplaceable,' Akashi had reassured him, and he was, in his own manner, right. Aomine would not need to replace him with anyone else; at this point, Aomine did not _need_ anyone else on the court.


	4. two halves of a half

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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o4 : two halves of a half

Boys. Seriously. I guess it's pretty sexist (as Aomine-kun would call me out on) of me to say this, as I've been hanging around them pretty much all my life, but when it comes to the squiggly-iggly little things like emotions, they seriously can't dribble much less pass.

And yes, you know, that _was_ a euphemism for something; what can I say - I do not so much as 'play' basketball as I _play_ basketball.

Anyways, getting on-topic with the main purpose of my ranting... two of my friends in-particular, Aomine-kun and Tetsuya-kun. We used to all be so very close, you know? We would go to the games together and I would spend the first ten minutes each morning picking lemons from my family's lemon tree and then lovingly soaking them in water... only for no one on the team to want to eat them! Oh, the nerve of those people - complaining about silly little things like poisonous peels and unwashed fruits!

I would sit in the seat next to the coach's seat (because I wasn't a coach) and watch the five of them play, attempting to chat with the sixth person (this game it was Murasakibara-kun, who angrily ate his way through a record fifteen candy bars because _of course_ no one on our team - well, except possibly Tetsuya-kun - would need to rest) and generally failing. But here was where this game ended differently from the previous games: _Aomine-kun_ was the one to sit out.

"What happened?" I demanded, because I had been watching the game and nothing looked out of the ordinary.

'Sakibara-kun gave Aomine-kun a little sneer before patting him on the back. Aomine-kun simply collapsed into the waiting chair, chest heaving and breaths shallow, not even bothering to watch his teammate take his place. To say that I was surprised would be like saying Aomine-kun was unhappy - I was jaw-dropping shocked (not that I would be allowed to show it) and he was boiling with uncontained fury.

"What happened?" I repeated, a little softer - and hopefully more insistent.

"Nothing," Aomine-kun sullenly said. I crossed my arms and pouted, and while I could probably have wriggled more information out of him, I was a member of the team as well (even if I was unofficial!) and I loved basketball too. So I turned my attention to the game; watched Murasakibara-kun easily slam dunk the ball and Tetsuya-kun weave his way in and out of opposing players (who probably, for all intensive purposes, didn't even _see_ him - the losers) and Midorima-kun shoot a three-pointer.

Thirty minutes flashed by; the endgame buzzer sounded; I don't even remember the score.

Here is what should have happened: Akashi-san would round everyone up and the five of them would each bump fists with the benched player (in this case: Aomine-kun who most certainly would not have a towel _draped over his face_) and then all six of them would proceed to line up with the other team. Then they would head back to the locker room and I would wait for them outside and we would all go for yogurt or drinks or ice cream and amicably chat our way through the afternoon, talking about the other team and upcoming homework assignments and crazy teachers and school rumors (well, the last one was definitely my doing but still).

This is what actually happened: Akashi-san give-or-take ordered the team to line up - without Aomine-kun. And Aomine-kun didn't even notice, didn't even make any motion of surprise. He just sadly sat in his mopey little way, towel tossed over his sweat-soaked hair.

"Aomine-kun," I tried, because none of this made sense. "Are you going to - "

"Daiki-chan, Satsuki-chan," Akashi's voice smoothly cut in as he nodded graciously towards me. Cue more surprise; I had not registered the fact that the congratulations had already been said and the rest of the team had already shuffled their way to the locker rooms. Aomine-kun, at least, removed the towel, though he did not turn to face the captain. I had no doubt that it was Akashi-san (who was held in higher regard than the coach!) who 'recommended' that Aomine-kun be benched for the game.

"That was rather stupid of you," he said in an utterly mesmerizing voice, and I watched as Aomine-kun said nothing in-response. "Tetsu-chan is, as you know, a basketball player through and through. He owns the court as much as you do and a single bruise is _never_ worth a free throw." I understood absolutely nothing. This clearly had something to do with Tetsuya-kun and Aomine-kun, but _how_?

"It wasn't just a bruise," Aomine-kun growled, turning his head to face our captain.

"Nonetheless, if you continue to give way to any _opportunity_ of a foul, I will have you benched again." Akashi-san, of course, would've been able to see Aomine-kun's actions before everyone else. He turned on his heel, strolling cssually into the locker room. I turned to face Aomine-kun, whose eyes had narrowed - at Akashi-san, I assumed.

"Aomine-kun," I started again - this pain is feeling more and more like déjà-vu - only to be interrupted by Aomine-kun.

"Everyone's so damn _selfish_," he muttered, craning his neck and stretching his arms. "But I'm the most selfish out of everyone," he said, a crooked smile bent firmly in-place. I rolled my eyes, because I was starting to see what this was all about - and yes, we weren't exactly in an accepting society and no, romance wasn't what _anyone_ played basketball to get, but all the same - it was possible.

"Why don't you tell Tetsuya-kun?" I asked what I thought was a perfectly legitimate question.

"No way," Aomine-kun scoffed, moving to get up. "Satsuki..." he paused and I could see that he was biting his lower lip, "You... like Tetsu, don't you?"

"That doesn't - " I attempted to retort, but he was already walking away. 'That doesn't matter,' I would've said, 'I've seen how he looks at you from time-to-time - I've seen how the two of you are when you're studying or eating lunch or playing video games.' Firm arguments in-favor of the two of them just _getting together_ - but I wasn't able to voice them. Because... at the end of the line, I'm just as stupid when it comes to 'want' and 'love' as any of the boys on the team. And Aomine-kun hit it right on the mark; that - in some silly manner or another - I, too, wanted Tetsuya-kun to something faithless degree of Aomine-kun's affections.

But I would have - I like to think - backed down, folded, crawled away with no tears at all, had he asked. But he didn't, so neither did I.


	5. serendipity in suffocation

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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undeniably inspired by _hnbs_ on pixiv and her illustration #18816695

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o5 : serendipity in suffocation

Whenever Aomine decides to show the physical side of his affection, Kuroko feels like he is in the process of drowning.

It doesn't matter where they are: the school locker rooms, their homes, the library, or even the deserted classroom; it's always the same. Aomine descends upon him, dark arms and dark hands and hot tongue. He slides an arm across Kuroko's clothed chest, fingers digging into the cotton of the Teikou uniform. His other hand starts out pressed lightly against Kuroko's cheek, before deciding to clasp down - over the other's eyes and forehead.

At this point, without a doubt, Kuroko is sweating: his breaths are beginning to become harsher and Aomine lets loose a chuckle that Kuroko can feel vibrate through his own back - he laughs because he can feel Kuroko's erratic pulse, he can feel Kuroko's sweating forehead. And he delights in causing both.

Kuroko can feel the other's smile - white teeth and chapped lips - against the forcibly-bared crook of his neck. But it's difficult, to say the least, to concentrate on teeth and lips when Aomine is biting and sucking and licking and _tasting_ from his jawline and his shoulder.

Aomine's hands temporarily loosen their grip on Kuroko to fumble through the buttons of their middle school uniform before stopping at the second-to-last button. One hand returns to clutching at Kuroko's side, the other hand wraps tightly around Kuroko's shaking, sweating wrist. At one point, Kuroko attempts to move his other hand to - he does not know what - but Aomine whispers a wet string of erotic insinuations right against Kuroko's ear and he drops the once-raised hand to make room for his heaving chest.

Drowning; drowning - it's a combination of the darkness and closeness and the fact that even though he can move, he cannot breath.

After they're done and properly dressed - and Kuroko is pressing a chaste kiss to the palm of Aomine's hand and Aomine reluctantly releases his waist, his eyes, his wrists (his _body_) from his grasp - Kuroko muses that Aomine knows exactly how it feels like, to be submerged in air and affection and entirely incapable of movement. Although it is terrifying in every way, there is also a sickening sense of comfort; that for once, you are without responsibility.

Like any piece of information he is unable to process, Aomine scoffs when Kuroko eventually confides in him that he will be going to a no-name school after graduating from Teikou. He pulls Kuroko down to claim his waist, his eyes, his wrists once more, and although it feels like the waves of the ocean will never end, he knows that he'll be breaking the surface soon.

It is a different sort of cruelty, he later thinks, to have not even kissed Aomine good-bye.


	6. a pleasant deviation

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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o6 : a pleasant deviation

Aomine Daiki wakes to the pitter-patter of heavy raindrops, tapping away at the roof of the apartment. His head feels sore and vision is clouded, to say the least. Stumbling out of bed, he manages to take two steps into the bathroom before being overwhelmed with the urge to puke.

This is how Kuroko Tetsuya discovers his boyfriend of three months: retching into the toilet, fingers clenched tightly around its ceramic sides.

"Aomine-kun!" he exclaims, crossing the length of the small bathroom in a few short strides. He presses a wet-and-chilly hand to the other's forehead while propping up Aomine's chin with the other hand. "You have a fever," he easily concludes, retracting his hand - much to the displeasure of the other. Aomine manages to mumble out a string of incoherencies, though Kuroko manages to discern his name, sprinkled between the delirium of the monologue.

With no small amount of effort, he manages to pull Aomine up to a standing position, wincing at their astronomical difference in strength and height. He is entirely too aware that if their positions were reversed, Aomine could've easily lifted him with a single arm. But there is no time for theorizing about hypothetical situations - as it is, Aomine seems ready to collapse at any given moment.

"Your bedroom," Kuroko pants, as a way of explanation, as he half-props, half-drags the utterly delirious Aomine into said room. He manages to ease the other halfway onto the mattress, before giving up on logic and reasoning and choosing - instead - to bodily push his feverish boyfriend fully onto the bed. And then he groans - aloud - because _of course_ Aomine would have decided to keep the blankets on the bed in the midst of his sickness.

In the end, he manages to pull the blankets out from underneath the other with a minimal amount of effort (on both their parts), and although Aomine insists on throwing the comforter off the first five times, Kuroko eventually manages to get the other to keep the other blankets on.

With all frankness, Kuroko is grateful that Aomine is just barely conscious, or else he surely would have used his winning brand of antilogic (the very same kind he employed to convince Kuroko that kissing in the staff dining room was a _great idea_!) to persuade his too-pliable boyfriend into allowing all the blankets to fall to the floor. And possibly all their clothes.

"What have you done to me," Kuroko mutters running a hand through the other's sweat-drenched locks of dark-blue hair. He watches, more than a bit amused, as Aomine's eyes flutter open, attempting to concentrate but ultimately unable to do anything more than blink blearily. In the end, Aomine succumbs to sleep - and Kuroko removes his hand, sweeping his gaze around the relatively filthy bedroom, before deciding to busy himself with the job of caretaker.

When Aomine Daiki reawakens, his head is no longer throbbing, though the back of his eyelids are absolutely _screaming_ at him for having opened them. The rain has not let up, but more pervasive than the sound of the raindrops was the distinct smell of soup, wafting through his apartment. He blinks, wondering if this is another particularly boring dream, before turning his head to see Kuroko propping open the bedroom door, a steaming bowl of soup in-hand.

"You can't cook," Naturally, those are the first words to escape Aomine's mouth - and with good reason; even while semi-conscious he could still remember the food poisoning fiasco Kuroko had inadvertantly caused during their last basketball meet.

"Of course," Kuroko replies, chuckling a bit. He waits for Aomine to properly seat himself before placing the bowl and spoon on the bedside table, pulling himself up a chair to sit in. Taking back the soup, he spoons out a small amount, looking expectantly at the other.

"I'm sick," Aomine croaks out. "You can't possibly expect me to stomach your cooking on my weakened stomach...!"

"Of course," Kuroko placidly replies, holding the spoon ever-closer. "But it was Momoi-san who made the soup."

"Satsuki?" Aomine echoes - before flushing. "But - I mean - she doesn't - your food is _really good_!" he manages to get out despite his heated cheeks. Kuroko chuckles a bit, before shaking his head and raising the spoon closer. Aomine opens his mouth as the other manuevers the spoon in; instinctively, he closes his eyes as well.

"Mmm," Kuroko murmurs, taking yet another spoonful of soup, "She came by around lunchtime, after I texted her about your illness. She left me with a list of instructions... on how to take care of a sick patient."

"Oh _God_," Aomine groans - before promptly choking on the soup and spoon. After a particularly violent coughing fit - interspersed with _giggles_ from his oh-so-supportive boyfriend - he managed to continue with, "You're not actually going to follow that advice, right? Satsuki makes the nurse from hell!"

"Perhaps," Kuroko replies, wiping away the tears that resulting from his spurt of laughter, "But there's one set of instructions that I think you'll quite like."

"Really?" Aomine retorts, swiping the bowl and chugging it down. It's hot - but in a mostly pleasant way, especially for his sore throat. "Well, don't listen to her spiel about how the sick person needs to constantly be uncomfortable," he rolls his eyes, remembering a particularly enraging experience with the well-meaning girl. Kuroko laughs again, cheeks curving and lips quirked upwards.

"You should do that more often," he notes, feeling the dimness of sleep creeping into his vision as he eases himself back down into a sleeping position.

"Do what?"

"Smi - " he doesn't get a chance to finish his word - because Kuroko leans over the bed, pressing his forehead against Aomine's. In a flash, the drowsiness takes its leave - as his eyes snap open and he sees Kuroko seeing himself. Kuroko is unpredictable like this, he thinks, in that he doesn't even give him enough time to blush before dipping his chin and closing his eyes, planting an aggravatingly chaste kiss on top of Aomine's lips.

"Get well soon," he whispers into the other's ear, fondly patting a flushed cheek. Aomine turns his head to watch Kuroko take the spoon and bowl, turning the knob of the door once more. And then, as an afterthought, Kuroko adds, "Momoi-san said you'd like it."

The door closes with a click, leaving Aomine entirely incapable of rest.


	7. present you the world

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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o7 : present you the world

But I _am_ scared when you hold me close and tell me that no one in the world will ever be as reliable - that you will not call anyone else your partner. Because while I encase myself in weak smiles and damp shadows and silence, you thrive in opposite conditions: you easily make strong bonds with people you've known for only a couple hours and throw yourself behind ideas that you have no practical knowledge of and laugh and scream while I try to talk _sense_.

And with some twisted affection that you most certainly would be flattered to claim, I hold you, Aomine Daiki of the Generation of Miracles - my first 'light', the ace, first-year student at Touou High - in the highest of regards.

You will not believe when Kise calls you on your cellphone, hysterical no doubt because I've up-and-vanished from the victory celebrations and _why won't I answer my cellphone_; you'll probably rationalize my ignoring of your subsequent calls. I do not know how you will pass off my lack of presence, only that you will.

And in all this rationalizing, there will be no time for you to think rationally - there will be no time for you to piece the flimsy little clues together. I choose the right time to take my leave from the Teikou basketball scene, even though the timing was by nature of chance, as opposed to actual reasoning. But it will not matter because I will be a freshman in a whole new high school and there will be a new team and I will make new friends and -

I will not - will never - be able to replace you.

Flash forward two months, I'm sitting by the side of my bed. You've stopped trying to call me, I've deleted every single one of your absolutely outraged text messages, and this is just the first step in a particularly daring plan of mine. Because I do not hold faith in your promises of eternal affection, because I do not hold faith in my ability to keep your interest, because I do not hold faith in the rest of the _world_ in keeping your love of basketball.

Even now, I suppose you will not believe me. But it's alright; I've almost gotten used to the hatred that simmers in your eyes whenever you happen to glance at me. I've all but insisted that Kagami-kun ignore the blatant jealousy you show towards him. And I've reassured - time and again - my team that the next time we play your school, we will win.

And I believe in that.

Aomine-kun, you will not understand now, because you're so good at something that you used to love _so much_ - that you now love only because you have loved nothing else. It hurts to see you like this; the Aomine-kun I know does not hate basketball, could never hate basketball.

You told me - at the end of our basketball season at Teikou - that you were unbeatable. That you were the only person who could defeat yourself; that no one else would be able to win against you. And it might have ended like that - had you been happy with it. But you were not, and - and don't you see? - leaving was the only way that I could find someone, discover a team, that would be strong enough to stand against you.

Look at me now - look at me, Aomine-kun. Or, more precisely, look at my new light, the one that you despise _so much_. See how good of a fight he gives? See his own inner talent: jumps that Kise-kun cannot copy, endurance that Midorima-kun cannot comprehend. You scoffed during the first match; he wasn't ready then. But now that Seirin is facing Touou a second time - your eyes tell me that you see him, that you see my chosen team, in a new light.

And that, you see, is what I have been aiming for all along. You _will_ love basketball again Aomine-kun, I can promise you that. Because this team - my team - exists to beat you, to be beaten by you - to compete alongside and against you; to rival you. And in that competition, perhaps you will come to love the basketball that I play.

But look at you, shaking your head and refusing to believe. It's alright - just wait and see.


	8. prisoner of war

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o8 : prisoner of war

When their six-man brigade rescues him from the rat-infested dungeons of the local (now dead, no doubt) daimyo, the first face Kuroko Tetsuya sees once his eyes adjust to the bright sunlight (that blinds his eyes to the point where he _wishes_ he had some more blood to bleed) is that of Aomine Daiki, who forces up a smile.

"Man, Tetsu, you look like _shit_," his fellow ronin tells him, giving him what would be a friendly pat on the back, except his hand is trembling and his fingers only manage to brush against Tetsu's bare skin - before the other instinctively recoils.

Momoi is the one to throw up - puke splattered miserably over the bloody stone tiles. Akashi carelessly dumps the still-warm head of the daimyo at Kuroko's feet. It's in the manner of a gift, a treatise, an offering - but everyone knows what it's supposed to be: an apology. Midorima and Murasakibara - the taller ones - are given the duty of guarding the rear, katanas swinging without any hint of light (they've been dully soaked in slaughter).

"Kurokocchi," Kise tries, extending a hand. Kuroko looks up at the shadowy face of his comrade. He attempts to reach out, grasp the other's hand - but slips at the last second. Kise bites his lip, quickly retracting his offer.

"We should get out of here," Akashi notes, and it's a command, not an offer.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Aomine carelessly says, getting on his knees to better examine Kuroko. "Shit - " he mutters, two thick fingers groping for Kuroko's almost-indistinguishable heartbeat. "No wonder he can't coordinate his limbs, much less stand."

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko numbly notes as he feels sturdy arms wrap gingerly around his undeniably malnourished figure. He sees, more than feels, himself being hoisted in the air, resting awkwardly on his partner's broad back. Akashi gives a nod, before the five of them exit the place he had forcibly been kept. Sometime between meeting up with the rear guard and watching Momoi coldly shooting down a trio of guards from the back - without any sign of hesitation and the slightest hint of a _smile_, Kuroko remembers the images flashing through his mind growing steadily dimmer.

When he comes to again, he stares unblinkingly at the patternless ceiling. It takes him a couple minutes to realize that no, this isn't some particularly vivid dream and that he actually _has_ been successfully rescued. When his brain manages to halfway digest that tidbit of information, he rolls over, eyes roving through the small chamber. He recognizes this place: it's a room in the complex their group had successfully 'acquired' in the outskirts of Edo - close enough to get supplies but far away enough for there to be no unnecessary questioning.

Home - this is as close at it'll ever get for him, he knows.

The anxiety, sorrow, and despair that seemed to claw at his flesh in that hellhole of neverending darkness overwhelm him in the light; Kuroko doubles over, face contorted and mouth frozen to force a silent scream through chattering teeth.

"How do you feel?" Momoi asks him when he wakes up a second time - this time, the sun has set and she has set down a plate filled to the brim with steaming rice and fish and the crabcakes that Kuroko vaguely remembers _liking_. "Stupid question - sorry for asking," she answers for him, gently placing the plate and chopsticks into his lap. "You should eat up; you look starved."

With all honesty - he expected this in some disgusting fashion, he picks up the chopsticks after three tries and then manages to scoop some pitiful amount of rice into his own mouth. This isn't the humiliating part; that's when he's seized with a set of inexplicable coughs and he manages to choke out the rice, his bile, and his own blood.

Momoi cleans him up as best she can (they may have light, but clean water is much harder to come by - so far from the river) but here is the grand problem: the stench of blood and vomit is actually _comforting_, manages to lull him to sleep even though the candles are still flickering and Momoi is still clutching him tight.

"What happened?" Aomine asks when Kuroko opens his eyes and stirs for a third time. He is leaning against the wall, legs uncharacteristically folded into a formal seiza position that Kuroko cannot imagine Aomine-kun to take on. "In that dungeon - before we managed to get you out," he says in the way of elaboration, "What happened?" Kuroko blinks at the person he would have called any other day of the week a 'comrade', the person that carried him out of the dungeons and rallied for his rescue and sat by the side of his tatami mat, waiting for him to wake up. He blinks because he _cannot_ recognize the other and finds that, when he places his shaking hands in front of his own face, he cannot recognize the skinny, trembling stalks that are _supposed_ to be able to half a grown man with a loose swing of the sword.

He is, he realizes, a stranger in his own body - and he hates himself for being affected so deeply by a single capture. The others had faced capture at times too - well, everyone save for their captain and medic - and they had been rescued more alive than not.

"What happened?" Aomine asks - again - and Kuroko finds his mouth opening, finds himself talking, even when he cannot feel his lips move.

He talks about the bubbling terror and retch-worthy stench of rotting corpses; the psychological terror that the daimyo's hounds would play to get at and the table scraps that he scrambled - at times - to get, tossed carelessly through the bars of the door. At some point, he remembers, he stops caring _whose meat_ it is he's eating.

"How long was I gone?" he tonelessly asks, after he's done. It feels like forever - at some point the hours needlessly bled into years.

"Too long," Aomine responds, crawling over on all fours.

Kuroko regards the other in the ethereal light of the dawning sun. His unnervingly tanned skin - a direct contrast to everyone else's pale skin - gleams with power, energy. Aomine slowly makes his way to his rescued friend's side, gently taking a bloody-and-pale arm. With painstaking feeling, he presses his own hand against Kuroko's, loosely curling their fingers onto one-another.

Strange - that it is this action, as opposed to everything else, that brings the salt and shame of tears of Kuroko's dimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry," Aomine whispers, pressing his lips to the back of his own hand - pushing against Kuroko's hand as well. "I want to tell you that it'll never happen again, but I don't think I would be able to keep that promise." It's strange, Kuroko thinks, but with his blurred vision, it almost looks like Aomine-kun is the one crying. "The only thing my hands can do is kill."

"It's good to be back," Kuroko simply replies, closing his fingers around Aomine's hand.


	9. a completed conversation

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o9 : a completed conversation

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what do you think of Ryou?"

" ... It is hard to make an accurate judgment at such an early stage."

"Psh, come on Tetsu; you don't need to sound to Tarou!" Aomine pauses to snort derisively at his compatriot's love for all things mystical and occult, "I'm asking you a pretty straightforward question: do you think Ryou'll be able to overtake me someday?"

"Ah - well," Kuroko replies with difficulty, taking a sip from his soda to stall, "It's really difficult to say at such a time, Aomine-kun."

"You're no fun!"

"..."

"C'mon," the other urges, all pats on the shoulder and other equally invasive measures, "Just give me the closest thing to a guess you have!"

"..."

"Well? Well? _Well_?"

"I suppose it is... a possibility. Kise Ryouta certainly has talent and dedication - Akashi-san has approved of his skills as well, so there is no doubt that he will be one of the regulars in no time. But - at some point - he will undoubtably hit someone who he cannot copy."

"_Awesome_!" Aomine is, as usual, far too excited at the prospect of a potential rival. "Y'know Tetsu, it's been really boring at times - to the point where I'm seriously thinking of telling the captain that I have a dentist appointment or something, just so I won't have to go to the useless practices and play with those stupid - hey! Ow!"

"That hardly hurt," Kuroko flatly replies, guilty hand still outstretched.

"What'd you hit me for?"

"Aomine-kun, just because Kise-kun is not advanced enough to truly be called 'competition' for you does not mean that you should slack off."

"But if I _do_ mess around, Ryou'll be able to catch up with me faster!"

"Perhaps. But then - at some point - you might be behind Kise-kun as well."

"Hahahaha... Tetsu, you're really bad with jokes!" Aomine laughs, even while he's still smarting from Kuroko's uncharacteristic hit, "As if that's possible! That'd be, like, I don't know, the same as finding someone who could defeat all of us!"

"..."

"What? You're serious?"

"..."

"Okay, okay, I won't try to ditch too many practices!" he indignantly throws up his arms, because he's never been able to win an 'argument' (if the one-sided debacle can even be called that) against Kuroko. He crosses his arms, before a metaphorical lightbulb is seen to go off in his mind. "...Did the captain put you up to this?" he demands, eyes narrowed and filled with unspoken accusations.

"Why would he have any reason to?" Kuroko calmly replies.

"I hate how he treats us all like we're his damn shoji pieces."

"It is for the sake of victory," his teammate smoothly replies, the response having long been ingrained in his tongue, "That is, after all, what you want above all, isn't it, Aomine-kun?"

"Of course!" Aomine responds - and they bump fists like nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

His mistake, he thinks - when he's lazing on Touou's rooftop and reminiscing on the glory days of yore - is to have never asked Tetsu was _he_ wanted. But then, he remembers, the 'Aomine' of Teikou was probably always too scared to know the real answer.


	10. seeing you seeing me

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1o : seeing you seeing me

Of all the things in the world he hates, the one thing that hits home is watching anyone else catch Kuroko's passes. It's a strange thing to feel, he knows, because Kuroko is a member of the team and in order to win, people outside of Aomine must be able to score. Despite his individual talent, Aomine Daiki is not stupid enough to think that he could've single-handedly led Teikou to victory. And so, what comes naturally is a need for other people to be able to intercept Kuroko's passes.

He understand this, and accepts it (however grudgingly).

After all, their captain has dictated the only in the game to be 'victory' - not 'good victory' or 'clean victory' or 'happy victory' even, just victory. And the word of Akashi is higher than the word of God when they're playing on the court, and Aomine will not be the one to disobey.

And still, he hates it when Kuroko passes to anyone else.

He trains himself to sprint faster, trying desperately to get closer to the basket so that he can guarantee a basket - so that he can guarantee Kuroko will pass to him - and still, oftentimes, Kuroko will pass to Midorima (for a promised three-pointer) or Kise (for a psychological attack).

It's for the sake of victory - he understands, he _understands_, he repeatedly assures Momoi, his captain, but _never_ Kuroko himself (he never even bothers to ask). All the same, the fear still bubbles... that in the face of his own unquestionable talent, Kuroko might still, in some way or another, find him to be ultimately replaceable. So he trains and he trains and looks away when Kuroko looks at him, continues to find the sideboard particularly enthralling, even while Kuroko is making his way to Aomine's side.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko greets, tilting his head sideways. Aomine chances a glance; he doesn't know why, Kuroko's stare is as unflinching and emotionless as ever. "You've been practicing too much," he says, raising his hands to cradle a blistered and bruised hand.

"Not really," Aomine weakly retorts, feeling the heat cloud around his cheeks. How is it that after so many games and teams and victories and (dare he mention them?) losses, it is _Tetsu_ that manages to wedge himself deep inside Aomine's consciousness, to the point where he does not know how he ever played basketball without the other. But the answer is easy, obvious; because before Tetsu, he did not know about being partners, about being reliable and relying on someone else.

"We should get some bandages from the nurse's office," Kuroko continues, index finger absent-mindedly tracing the sweaty wrinkles etched into the other's hand. The tremors that run up and down his spine are absolutely nothing in-comparison to the heart-wrenchingly _fond_ way Kuroko smiles at him, pressing his cool lips to the edge of Aomine's wrist.

"...I'm jealous sometimes," he whispers with the tone of a confessor as Kuroko loosely pulls him in the direction of ointment and bandages.

"Me too," Kuroko simply replies, flashing yet another one of his wry smiles, "It's strange... having to share your presence with the crowd," he continues, and Aomine flushes outright, because Kuroko is has always been too blunt (and isn't this why he _loves_ him?). "But," he amends, opening the first-aid box to pull out a small bottle of lotion and a string of bandages, "I love basketball as much as Aomine-kun. If sharing on the court is how we'll win, I can hardly call it a sacrifice." He has, in that instance, absolutely nothing to say in reply.


	11. grinning glory of yesteryear

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requested by dreamz

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11 : grinning glory of yesteryear

Aomine is all dangerous smiles and predatory glances when he's strolling through the Seirin Stars Agency. It's a no-name company that has yet to snag any magazine covers - much less billboards or _blimps_ and while the rooms are clean and the hallways manage to shine brightly, the luster is lacking. Where are the jewels, where are the constant cameras and tear-struck fangirls? The barrage of papparazzi and constant media attention does not exist in this corner of the entertainment industry.

Momoi - of course - is the one who arranges the trip, contacts the agency and finds out (from an all-too-eager little bird, no doubt) where Kuroko will be working the next day and for how long. Akashi, who had openly thought of retirement with the disbanding of MiraGen, had raised an eyebrow when Kise relayed to him that Kuroko had not, as they expected, returned to lounge in the tropics with the heaping fortune he - along with everyone else from the MiraGen Modeling Agency - had made.

No, of course not, Midorima murmurs, when they meet up for drinks at some out-of-way bar, high-end glasses that are rimmed with the brightest emeralds money can buy. Of course Kuroko would be unable to settle down and enjoy the prospects of retirement at age twenty-two. Kise laughs, flippantly, stretching out his diamond-studded fingers to flick carelessly around the room.

"What's not to like?" Aomine remembers the other saying with a million-dollar smile.

"Don't say that," Momoi had replied, casting a glance to the empty seventh chair, the chair that Kuroko Tetsuya no doubt would have been sitting in if he bothered to return any of their calls. "Tetsuya-kun isn't like that. He..." she flushes, because the weight of being the only woman in their all-star crew is a heavy one (even if Murasakibara and Kise have no qualms whatsoever about going around in drag - to say nothing of Kuroko), "He never liked the blinding lights of fame."

"It hardly matters," Akashi had concluded, stubbing out his perversely _cheap_ peppermint-scented cigarette (the smell still lingers; the scent of _money_) against the glossed hardwood of the counter, "He's in the wrong industry if he doesn't like the spotlight." He says it like a death sentence and, in many ways, it is one.

But at the crux of things, Aomine does not want to believe it. It was bad enough when Akashi single-handedly came to the conclusion that the industry topcats would be looking into their salaries sooner or later and, as a result, calmly called for the disbanding of their top-of-the-class modeling agency. It was godawful when Kuroko simply nodded his head, as if this was something he had _known_ would happen; as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.

What really hurts is when Aomine asks for a forwarding address of some kind - they had all been living in the same multi-million dollar apartment complex for three years, after all - and Kuroko does not give him anything.

He doesn't know what he's looking for, whether it be a phone number, a picture, or an address, shuffling awkwardly to and fro in Kuroko's deserted dressing room. He finds a couple girlishly cut wigs, most likely in-tune with the sudden wave of androgyny, neatly-stacked boxes of make-up (all in that same peculiarly pale shade of skin Kuroko was made _famous_ for), and a ribbon-bound parcel of letters - from adoring fans, no doubt. When he's about to give up, not even knowing what he was searching for in the first place, he finds it.

It's a black-and-white photo, crinkled once and then smoothed out, of the two of them in one of their many, many shared shoots. Kuroko is wearing his typical waist-length wig, his fingers pressed limply against his utterly flat chest. His neck would be bared for all the world to see, if Aomine's expertly tousled hair - wet and _shining_ with the water and light, were not covering it.

Instinctively, he lifts his fingers to his lips, the memories of that particular shoot rushing into his mind. He had, at some point, loved modeling - loved the sound of cameras snapping and people pandering to his every want and whim. It's silly, but he brings the photo (it must be at _least_ six months old) to his face, squinting at Kuroko's ultimately lost expression, taking note of how their hands are clasped together - almost _romantically_ - at waist-level. When he inhales, he catches a whiff of the perfume - _Enchantée_ - that Kuroko wore for that day.

The smile he didn't know he had on slips off his face when he looks at the cut-out image (from some low-brand magazine, he notes with a sneer), placed underneath the photo of their shoot.

It's a picture of a relatively handsome young man, presumptuous grin that showed just the right amount of teeth. He had, as Momoi would've noted, devilishly good looks in an uncoordinated and asymmetrical sort of manner. If Aomine squinted he could, perhaps, see elements of himself in said model. But what he notices - aside from the slick blaze of fiery-red hair and caption of 'Kagami Taiga - the Wild Tiger of Seirin' - is a teal-blue imprint of lips parted in a kiss.

The color is unnerving because it leaves no room for speculation - that was Kuroko's trademarked lipstick color. Even Murasakibara and Momoi wouldn't go near those shades.

Aomine stares impassively at the photo, unable to actually _process_ the idea of Kuroko falling in love with someone from the no-name agency - someone who didn't look like they could hold up to twenty hours, much less three consecutive days, of shooting. It's strange and silly, almost ridiculous, because the fact of the matter was: everyone slept with everyone; half the time half the rooms in the apartment complex were _empty_ because their occupants were in other people's rooms.

The insistent ringing of his cellphone is what snaps him out of his reverie. He extracts it with practiced ease; it's Momoi.

"Daikkun!" she starts, a hint of nervousness bleeding into his normally cheery voice. "Are you still in Tetsuya-kun's room?"

"Yeah."

"Shoot. That's bad," she mutters, and he can hear the precision-manicured fingernail being ground further down on the other end, "Tetsuya-kun's just returned. I moved the car a couple spaces down, I don't think he recognized me. But - he's going in. _What are you going to do_?"

It's the million-dollar question, not just of the moment, but of his life. He could settle down as a bachelor; hell, he has enough money to afford _anywhere_. He could continue aimlessly at his old-school agency, maybe even convince Akashi - on one of his unusually lenient days - to start up MiraGen Modeling all over again. There are possibilities, but he doesn't want to see them, doesn't want to acknowledge them and all because -

The doorknob turns and Kuroko steps in. Aomine doesn't get a chance to see his expression because by the time he turns his head, Kuroko has already forcibly schooled features into one of mild surprise.

- Kuroko managed to carelessly move on, find a new talent agency, find a new _partner_.

(It hurts - it _hurts_ goddammit.)

"Tetsu," he starts, as casual as if they were still in the utterly _blinding_ light of the MiraGen Agency. And then he pauses to really _look_ at the other. He has - in the most inexplicable manner - changed entirely, and Aomine does not know if he would be able to recognize Kuroko if he were strolling down the street. For one thing, he is without any sort of hairpiece of wig; his ethereal-styled blue hair, cropped short to allow wig after wig, is slightly disheveled - most likely accidentally. He's not dressed to the nines - there are no priceless jewels (in the shape of earrings, watches, necklaces, or anklets) anywhere on his body, and he is dressed in such laughably _common_ clothing - jeans and a t-shirt.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko says at a manner of greeting. His eyes look Aomine up and down, before resting at the two pictures that Aomine is still clutching in his hands. "Why are you in my room?"

"I - " the words are stuck; they feel like lead and glue against his constricted throat, the fact of the matter is: he does not know this Kuroko who walks around in _men's_ clothing and has half-hour shoots for no-name magazines and plants teal-blue kisses on the photos of rising stars. "I don't know," he ends up saying, even though that is anyything _but_ what he meant to say.

"I do not," Kuroko starts, as he moves aside for Aomine to stumble his way out of the other's dressing room, "want to see you here again." It's side in a bitingly polite polite tone, even as Aomine catches the glimmer of light-blue lipstick. His mind is in a blur when his feet shuffle through the hallway - he passes by the red-haired man in the picture (he looks perturbed at Aomine's presence but not enough to comment - Aomine _does not care_) and a waif of a brunette; the manager, no doubt. Momoi is waiting for him in the car, biting on her lip because she can read him like a book.

"How was he?" she tentatively asks as she's driving him back to their agency's living quarters.

"Beautiful," he breathlessly replies - closing his eyes and leaning his head back and tracing high cheekbones and thin wrists and wayward glances; things that used to be _his_. Kuroko is, he needs admit, as utterly stunning as a man as he was when he spun himself to be female. There's something enchanting about his eyes, his posture, the undeniable _confidence_ he manages to glide through. "Beautiful," he repeats, because he has never imagined Kuroko surviving outside of MiraGen - without _Aomine_.

There's no such thing as a happy ending and so he doesn't ask for one.


	12. dog days of summer

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12 : dog days of summer

"Whose turn is it to treat?" Aomine wheezes out, chest heaving and back pressed against the blazing-hot concrete.

"Mine," Kuroko replies, dropping his schoolbag on the space next to his teammate. "What flavor do you want?"

"Whatever you're getting," the other grunts, waving a hand, "It's... so... hot..." he flops his hand down in a particularly dramatic fashion, tongue lolling out of his wide-open mouth. Kuroko snickers, and Aomine pays him no heed. It's too _hot_ to be embarrassed about looking anything like a dying dog. "Hurry up Tetsu," he moans, "I think I can feel myself melting into the ground!"

But by that time, Kuroko has already left.

Aomine blinks, before dismissing it - that is his partner's special ability after all: being able to fall so deeply beneath the radar, he's used to it.

It's one of those strangely hot days, he can't get the stench of the classroom out of his shirt (damn the school and their policy of forcibly handing out remedial classes in the _summer_ of all times...!) and his own sweat is making the weather even more unbearable, sticking the edges of his clothes to one another. They had made plans to play basketball at the public courts only to find said courts completely deserted in the noontime sun.

"Are you awake?" Kuroko asks, prodding his friend's cheek with the stick end of the popsicle.

"Yeah yeah," Aomine drawls, raising himself up to sit lazily against the chain-link fence of the basketball courts. Kuroko hands Aomine his only-somewhat-melted popsicle before sitting himself down as well. "Ew, tapioca?" he complains, wrinkling his nose. "You have the weirdest tastes," he notes, before shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

Kuroko rolls his eyes when Aomine emits a blissful sigh at the cool sensation blossoming in his (no doubt overheated) mouth.

"Oh man, where is Ryou?" Aomine pipes up, remembering that their teammate also needed to take remedial classes.

"He has a photo shoot in the afternoon so he needed to leave school early."

"Aaaah seriously? He's got it too easy - the teacher's practically drooling over him anyways!" He passes a glance over at Kuroko, raising an eyebrow in-response to the other's grimace. "What? You don't think he's got it really easy?"

"Hardly," Kuroko reasoned, before grimacing again. "I just don't like tapioca."

It's a combination of Kuroko's straight face and monotone that causes Aomine to burst out laughing, popsicle stick clenched tightly between his teeth while he clutches his sides, snickering and howling. "But then why'd you buy that flavor?" he asks, wiping away a couple errant tears.

"It was the one closest to the counter," Kuroko mumbled, attempting to choke down the bizarrely flavorless concoction.

"Just throw it away if you don't like it so much," Aomine suggests, tossing his popsicle-less stick into the trash.

"It's alright," Kuroko simply replies, continuing to whittle away at the quickly-melting treat. Aomine watches - with a larger amount of fascination than he would ever admit to having - as the sticky white drops from the popsicle dribble their way down Kuroko's fingers. Kuroko pays no heed to his staring teammate, choosing to concentrate on maximizing the amount of popsicle consumed and minimizing the amount of popsicle _tasted_.

This, of course, leads to craned necks and arguably more awkward methods of eating.

"...Tetsu..." Aomine hoarsely whispers, feeling the buzzing heat blitz about his head, "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Other than regretting that I was the one who had to treat today?" Kuroko asks, raising an eyebrow. Aomine swallows, forcing himself to stand up and... stretch. Or do something - anything.

"There, finished," Kuroko concludes, while Aomine was seriously contemplating just going home and taking a nice long _freezing cold_ shower. Then Kuroko wrinkles his nose again. "My hands are all sticky," he notes.

"That's what you get for taking so long to finish!" Aomine crows, picking up both their bags. "C'mon... it's way too hot to be walking around the streets."

"Alright."

"..._Tetsu_." Aomine sincerely hopes that the high-pitched quality in his voice is just a result of the heat (_around_ him, not _inside_ him, thankyouverymuch) or - better yet - his imagination. "What are you _doing_?" he croaks out, feeling his face overheat and a sudden weakness overcoming his arms.

"You know," the other starts - in an almost conversational manner - while licking the melted filmy-white substance from his hanfs, "I think I quite like tapioca now."

It's embarrassing, but Aomine passes out from a nosebleed then and there. Definitely because of the summer heat, he'll argue to his dying day.


	13. play games with the best

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13 : play games with the best

Aomine Daiki is surprised when he finds out that Kuroko is a deep sleeper. He had never bothered asking, simply assuming that the other would have been easy to wake up. The opposite turns out to be true: after a particularly strenuous practice session with the regulars of the first-string, where everyone was ordered to run two hundred laps around their double-sized gym, Kuroko looked about ready to pass out.

Nonetheless, he had insisted on staying late and practicing some more after the official practices, and then the unofficial practices, and then 'Really this is getting ridiculous people you have to go home and _sleep_' practices. Aomine shrugs, because he'd been thinking of getting some more speed on his hook shot, and so he stays behind with Kuroko.

Kuroko, he notices, has been advancing at marvelous rates - at first he barely had enough confidence to step onto the court, before, he was too shy to even give other people his name. Now... well, Aomine must admit that the other is still as quiet and reclusive as ever, but at least he's taking easy strides into the game, as opposed to those embarrassingly hesitant first steps the regional runner-ups had to have been witness to.

"Eh?" he intones, when he notices that Kuroko has stopped practicing. He glances around the court, unable to find the other. "Kuroko?" he calls, thinking back to that (ridiculous - but memorable) first-time experience with Kuroko (it involved _ghosts_ - he still refuses to acknowledge that part).

"Over here," the other replies, and his eyes swing over to the once-deserted bleachers. Kuroko is sitting - hunched-over, but still sitting - atop the lowest set of bleachers, head bent over and elbows placed heavily atop his knees. Aomine doesn't even think of making another basket, dropping the basketball to go over to his teammate.

"Woah Tetsu," he says, impressed that he managed to so quickly get his heartrate to such a normal speed, "Are you okay? You shouldn't have stayed so late! It's practically..." he pauses to glance at the clock on the other side of the court, "Eight 'o clock! And you've been running for pretty close to two hours!" Aomine sits himself down next to the other, feeling the stark contrast between their skin tones, their heights, their sizes, their _everything_.

Kuroko laughs in response and the laugh sounds out-of-breath and flighty. "I wouldn't have guessed," he starts, and Aomine can hear his partner's uniquely playful sense of humor bleeding into his speech (it must be the exhaustion, he thinks), "that Aomine-kun was the mothering type," Kuroko chuckles to himself.

"Wha - ? No way!" Aomine protests, cheeks flushing. And then he feels a weight settle onto his shoulder. "Tets - " he tries to get out, turning his head. His eyes recognize the strange shade of blue hair and then all his mental processing systems subsequently stop - self-destruct or shut down or something - because he realizes that Kuroko, Kuroko who doesn't like hugs and is awkward with _high-fives_, is leaning his head against his teammate's shoulder.

And then, all of sudden, his brain fires up again, no doubt racing desperately to catch up to the speed of his now-thudding-away heart. It takes a great deal of effort to remember to _breath_ (and that breathing requires the use of your nose and your mouth as opposed to, say, your _feet_ or something). The words 'does not compute' keep flashing across his mind.

"Ah, Daiki-kun," Teikou's captain, Akashi, notes, raising an eyebrow at the curious position his 'Light' and 'Shadow' are in.

"Oh - captain - this isn't - " he starts, and then feels Kuroko's head leave his shoulders and he doesn't even need to think - just watches his hands shoot up and catch the other. It is the most impossibly awkward position in the _universe_, he thinks, to have his partner's _face_ awkwardly cradled in-between his fingers _while_ the captain of their basketball team regarded them with the same amount of interest and amusement that he used on chess games.

"Why not have Tetsuya-kun sleep in your lap?" Akashi smoothly suggests.

Aomine _hopes_ that he has enough 'WHATTHEFUCK' in his repertoire to pull off the appropriate expression.

"Here, I'll help," Akashi continues, striding over and casually easing Kuroko atop of Aomine's not-at-all-liquefied-legs, effectively rendering Aomine's (once-proud) what-the-fuck expression useless. "There," the blasted captain has the decency to _add_, "much more comfortable, isn't it?"

"Why are you here?" Aomine asks, doing his best to appear collected and calm, however much resemblance his face may have with a tomato at the moment. "I thought you were the one that told us to stop practicing and rest." It's impossible however, to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Ah, well, that is..." Akashi chuckles, eyes roaming over his two dear teammates, "I was finishing up some paperwork," he smoothly lies and Aomine doesn't bother to call the captain on it (everyone knows that Momoi's the only one who ever goes anywhere _near_ the paperwork). "It's good to see the two of you putting in some extra effort though," the captain continues, before switching the subject to: "He is doing unnaturally well, isn't he?"

Aomine tenses up - all-too-aware of the weight of Kuroko's head, practically _nestled_ in his gym shorts.

"What do you mean?" he asks, feeling his mouth go dry.

"Nothing particular," Akashi replies, squatting down to examine Kuroko's sleeping face. "Poor boy, he must be terribly exhausted," he murmurs - more to himself than Aomine, "It would do him good if you walked him home," he notes - and Aomine nods, because their captain does not know the meaning of the word 'suggestion'. "You did well," Akashi continues, reaching forth a hand to brush - assumedly - a couple stray locks from Kuroko's forehead, "But you will do so much better."

And then he stands up - like nothing out of the ordinary (or particularly homoerotic) had just happened, giving a nod to a very-tense Aomine Daiki before making his merry way out of the basketball court that is his kingdom.

"I thought he would never leave," Kuroko mumbles, turning his head and exhaling _right on top of Aomine's knee_.

Aomine jumps up, shrieks like a ten-year-old girl, and subsequently causes Kuroko's head to crash against the top of the bleacher.

"...ow," Kuroko monotones, as Aomine is busy attempting to _catch his heart rate again_.

"Don't... ever... do... that... again...!" Aomine says - while his voice is still hysterically high and he can still taste his _heart_ in his _throat_.

All the same, he stills walks Kuroko to his apartment complex that night - and every night after.


	14. wishes of the magi

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BANDS OF **black** AND _blue_

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14 : wishes of the magi

_Please don't have an umbrella, please don't have an umbrella, please don't have an umbrella,_ Aomine mentally prays before stepping out of his classroom and into the locker rooms. It's become an everyday activity: the bell will ring and he will get out of class and then Kuroko will be waiting by their adjacent lockers (and so what if Aomine had to 'convince' the person who used to have a locker next to Kuroko to trade lockers - it was _so_ worth it in the end) with his bag and, on account of rain, an umbrella.

It's really stupid, he knows, something that girly-girls like _Satsuki_ would do, but all the same, he is curious: how would it feel to walk home in the light rain, sharing an umbrella with Tetsu? The good news is that it has been raining for the whole week; the bad news is that during each and every one of those days, Kuroko had steadfastedly chosen to remember his umbrella.

_If you walk home in the rain with someone you love_, Satsuki had told him the other day with a smile and a wink, _then you'll be destined to be together!_ And then she squealed like it was the most romantic thing in the world and Aomine had shrugged her off because he was a boy and he didn't care about those sort of superstitions. Not one bit - not at all - not him, no way!

And then he had got to thinking, during a particularly boring history lecture, about how it would feel to be walking through the rain with Tetsu, possibly holding hands. And then they would chance a glance at one another and their eyes would meet and Tetsu's fingers would brush against his under the umbrella and he would tilt his head in that utterly adorable fashion and Aomine would cup his chin and...

Needless to say, the history teacher interrupted that daydream rather quickly. It was terribly embarrassing, a slightly-pink Midorima informed him after that class session was over, because he had been slumped over with a dazed look on his face while _drooling_. But Aomine manages to tune Midorima's casual ranting out, looking out at the promising gray sky and remembering that umbrella that he had remembered to put in his bag the night before.

"It's not there," he says, opening his locker and shuffling through the incredibly messy contents (Norikita Mai magazines, two basketballs, a somewhat-moldy sandwich, and half a dozen mismatched socks) while Kuroko stood by watching. "My umbrella isn't there," he hopes he manages to keep the hysteria out of his voice, but he doubts it, especially when he looks at Tetsu's utterly disconcerted face.

"Ah, um," he falters. He's blushing badly because he can literally _see_ his fantasy being blown to pieces by the harshness of reality. He was the one that was supposed to offer Kuroko an umbrella! He had been planning this for only an entire week! He's certain that Kuroko will think of him as childish and unreliable now. "Um..." he starts again, wondering if anyone else feels so immature during their final year of middle school, "Do you think we could share an umbrella?"

"Ah, well..." Kuroko replies, and Aomine feels his heart sink to his stomach (oh God he must think that I'm a total moron who can't even remember to bring his own umbrella and now I'm going to have to walk home alone in the rain!) only to leap out of his chest (metaphorically, of course!) at Kuroko's next words: "I would share my umbrella with you, but I left it at home."

Aomine stares at the other, and then blinks. Kuroko continues staring at his bemused teammate. And then the two of them break out in smiles, and then laughter, clutching their sides and sniggering like the basketball-loving-morons anyone walking by would believe them to be.

"Screw that!" Aomine declares, grabbing both their schoolbags, "I have to go watch the latest Naruto episode this afternoon!" Kuroko bites back a snicker, remembering an earlier argument between Midorima and Aomine about which two characters could defeat one another in a fight. "What?" he asks, and Kuroko shakes his head in response. And then Aomine takes a leap of faith, grabbing Kuroko's wrist and dragging him more-or-less through the pitter-patter of the light May rain.

He's laughing hysterically because Kuroko has managed to lose some of his inhibition along the adrenaline-driven way, going to far as to actually _hold hands_ with Aomine. They run like the middle schooler they are through the rain, schoolbags bouncing and soaked to the skin. Just for the sake of prolonging the moment, Aomine makes it a point to jump in every possible puddle. Kuroko is less than amused, but ends up with the last laugh with Aomine accidentally gets his uniform's pants drenched to the calf in muddy water after a particularly exhilarating splash.

"Aomine-kun is so weird," Kuroko mumbles, after Aomine looks at his pants and laughs even harder, his fingers clenching Kuroko's all the tighter.

"Only for you, Tetsu," Aomine cheerily replies.

The rest of their basketball team (including their yaoi-loving manager) places bets the following day when both of them end up staying home, sick - according to an overly defensive Aomine - with a cold. All the same, Aomine remembers to bring his umbrella everyday after that - and Kuroko does not. Much to nearly everyone's disappointment, it stops raining after that.


	15. what distance makes

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15 : what distance makes

"I miss you so much," Aomine whispers into his shoulder. Kuroko's hands are stuck - like glue - at his sides and he has no idea how to respond, what to do, _anything_, really.

...This is, after all, the first time he's so much as _seen_ Aomine after having quit the Teikou Drug Cartel. When Akashi had asked for an excuse, he had given something about timing and location and having 'new goals' in life. The truth of the matter was: he was sick _to death_ of watching people crawling, begging, screaming, crying; eyes red and tears flowing like _rivers_ because they just needed those drugs.

He's tired of that, and although Midorima is the only one he's confessed such thoughts to, the other is nothing if not professional - slicked hair and unblinking gaze. It had been, he remembers, a uniquely drunk night; one of the sweet little girls who was freaking _fourteen_ when she lost her virginity at Momoi's brothel was now just barely sixteen years old and a blood splatter on the second floor because of a cocaine deal gone wrong.

Kuroko remembers being unable to think, unable to work, unable to _kill_, for weeks after that. Aomine punches him on the shoulder; tells him a life is a life is a life and of _course_ his partner in crime can say that - he's never had tea served to him on trembling hands and a weak smile, he's never had to tell another human being that they were just _too fucking pitiful_ or _please just let me buy you for the night so you can get some godforsaken sleep_. He's never had to do any of that, so he doesn't know how Kuroko feels - cannot begin to comprehend how Kuroko feels.

"You know I won't let you leave like this," Akashi murmurs, taking a dip in his stash of ground tobacco. Kuroko continues walking forward, knowing that he is the first person to leave the cartel alive - know that somewhere, deep down, Akashi is _scared_ of him (why, he does not know - does not want to know; his hands are just as bloody as Akashi's after all) because that's the only logical explanation Kuroko can give for Akashi _allowing_ him to pack up his things and leave.

It hasn't even been two nights in his new apartment in the southern district of Tokyo when the first murder attempt comes. He should've expected it, he knows that Akashi will not let him go - will not let _anyone_ go - alive. Kuroko knows far too many secrets of the organization and even if they changed every single security combination and password and passphrase in the whole of the central building, he would still be able to glide in by the nature of being the maker of all the locks.

"Come back," the first attempt at murder clutches at his wrists. He blinks, feeling flattered for the worst reasons possible because of _course_ Akashi would send Kise after him first - Kise who thrived in the sun and sky, who lived on crushing little girls' dreams and crying himself to sleep at night - lonely and alone. "Please come back to us, Kurokocchi - Aominecchi hates it when you're not there, you don't belong out here, you're much better than this." He's motioning to Kuroko's decrepit little flat at the edge of the red light district where he drinks tap water and eats cup noodles straight from the water heater.

"You may be right, Kise-kun," Kuroko admits, "I do not think I belong here either," and the other relaxes and that's his mistake and Kuroko knows - when he hits the other in the temple and watches his old _friend_ crumple to the ground - that he's _not_ like anyone in the 'outside' world, the 'above' world. He's still got his reflexes, he has not given up any of his knives or guns or explosives and no one has asked for them back so he thinks that he will keep them.

He observes, in the dead of night, someone cloaked in black coming to take Kise's unconscious form away. For this, he's grateful, because for him, some lives are worth more than others - and he wonders if this is supposed to be the first step to being a 'human'.

Midorima-kun comes two weeks later - well, he assumes it's Midorima, because the bullet grazes his cheek and shatters his balcony window and he needs to remind himself to reinforce _those_ windows with triple coats of Kevlar as well. Midorima, like Kise - like himself - is also prone to silly little things like emotion, even if the other is not happy about admitting it. His fault lies in waiting two weeks to prepare, because that gives Kuroko ample time to prepare as well. There is a tiny trapbomb in the perfect location for shooting out his window; he detonates it two seconds after he hangs up the phone, giving no response to a muffled: 'You picked the wrong road'. It's not fatal, but he's certain that Midorima will have been wounded, to say the least.

Aomine comes third, apparently of his own volition, as - for once - he's without any sort of obvious armament, no automatic rifles or pistols digging into his wrists. He's even passed down his most treasured inlaid dagger. He comes in a t-shirt and shorts, looking more like a tourist than the best hitman of the Teikou Generation of Miracles.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko greets, nodding his head and preparing himself to break for a sprint out the window (he can survive, but that's because he's planned on going up, as opposed to down). And then the other does something that Kuroko could've never predicted: he grabs Kuroko's shoulders and brings him close for a rib-crunching hug. This is where Kuroko finds himself at the moment, crushed between Aomine's capable arms, coming to the terrifying realization that _he_ is _not_ the one trembling - that it is _Aomine_ (Aomine who was all smiles and laughter and blood and murder - reeking of the kill and _loving it_) who is burying his head in Kuroko's blue polo, wetting it with tears.

"I'm sorry, please come back," Aomine whispers, and Kuroko does not know for the life of him what Aomine is apologizing for. And then Aomine explains, still clutching him close - it's ridiculous but he feels his blood run cold even as his heart thumps in-rhythm with Aomine's - because he _does not understand_. "I killed that girl," Aomine confesses, dark-blue hair obscuring Kuroko's vision, "I was jealous of her because I thought she had slept with you. I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please come back, _please come back_," and the memories of the sixteen-year-old prostitute race back into his vision and he remembers crying over her death, remembers Aomine playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No," he gasps out - unable to process, unable to comprehend, and are his eyes crying too? He pushes the other away, wrenching himself out of the chokehold that Aomine has always been well known for. "I can't." he says, "Not anymore - never again."

"Tetsu - I don't want to - " Aomine tries, and his eyes are still flooded with tears and that's the only explanation Kuroko can give for the next chain of events. "I don't want to - you _have_ to come back," he childishly insists, tugging on Kuroko's sleeve. Kuroko bats it to the side. "Please come back," Aomine tries again, and Kuroko shakes his head; his heart is racing and he wonders if this is 'endgame' and, if so, endgame for who? "I don't want to lose you to anyone else," Aomine whispers, even as he's cocking the gun Kuroko accidentally left on the floor.

_If I can't have you, no one can_.

He's vaguely aware that Aomine pulls the trigger - he can see other bullets failing to make it past his thrice-reinforced window panes - and he knows that Aomine wasn't aiming at him - wasn't aiming _properly_ at least. And in that second, he grabs the other's hand and _twists_ until the gun that was his own falls to the floor again. There's no time to think in situations like this, so he doesn't.

Later, much later, when he's resting on a rooftop and self-medicating his single gunshot wound (it's grazed his ankle; crazy luck, Aomine would've muttered, laughing and joking and thumping fists with him), he examines his wrist in the moonlight, taking note of how, somewhere in the midst of the shootout, Aomine managed to leave a blood-red imprint of his own hand while leading Kuroko to safety.

He raises his head to the night sky, laughing pitifully and wondering _why_ it is that living like a human manages to be so bittersweet, so painful.


	16. if love be logical

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16 : if love be logical

There are times on the rooftop where I sit there, floating aimlessly in some medium between 'asleep' and 'awake', and I wonder - quite soberly - why I cannot muster up the appropriate amount of _hatred_ for Tetsu; why I need to hate his no-name school, his terrible choice of new light, his future and past opponents - why I need to hate all those things, as _some_ way of hating him.

It's stupid, I know that much - it's what I've been telling myself ever since Tetsu left early that one afternoon - the one that signified Teikou's third national championship. If I was logical - like Tarou or the captain or, well, anyone really - it would be really obvious: here is the person that stole everything from you and you should hate him.

I've been trying to rationalize it for _months_... maybe even years. I don't know when the niggling feeling started in the back of my head. It was certainly before we became triple champions. I suppose it probably started that one evening. He came in late for practice and I remember being surprised; he was infinitely punctual than I and _I_ was the one who had only one love in life - as Satsuki so aptly put it - and that was basketball. Looking sad, telling me how he wanted to quit and, for some reason, I didn't want that.

He was, quite frankly, a godawful basketball player. I'm not joking when I say that after a good three months of practice - with _me_ of all people! - he still couldn't defend any of my shots, much less dribble his way pass my defense. Never once had I ever seen him make a basket and, with all honesty, I probably should have told him - strongly suggested, urged, forced, _whatever_ - to quit basketball before that night.

But Tetsu - well, Kuroko-kun, as I called him back then - he was different. How, I still can't explain, _especially_ since he was such a terrible player. But he was dedicated; he loved the sport as much I did, and he didn't have the glory of victory as a possible reason. And - as I told him before - I respected him for that.

The captain - Akashi, who the hell else? - had talked to me about practice schedules and something or another. It was normal enough; I was supposedly the ace of our basketball team after all. And then he looks over my shoulder, as if he's just noticed someone, and then I remember that Kuroko is still behind me. That was the start - of an absolutely unprecedented move - a third-stringer moving up not only to the first string, but to a regular position on first string.

Even I, who had qualified for first string after three weeks of intensive practice, wouldn't have been able to claim such a feat. It was like the waters just freakin' parted for Tetsu or something, and somewhere deep down inside, I was... well, irritated wouldn't be the appropriate word, if only because 'irritation' has a target, but it was close. I was restless, and even though I didn't want to admit it, the fact of the matter was: Tetsu was surprisingly good in his element - I _needed_ him in the harder games because without him, I wouldn't be able to score.

All the same, in the face of this sort of acknowledgment, I always thought there was some degree of unfairness. Ryou made it obvious when he pointed out that even _after_ a year and a half of being a regular on the team, Tetsu still couldn't make a single basket - even while unguarded. He's different, completely different from the two of us, I had told him - and everyone believed that to some degree, even the captain.

He steals my spot as the essential member of the team within _weeks_ of his first game. Everyone else is replaceable, Akashi tells me - straight to my face - and still, I can't find it in myself to hate Tetsu. I've never been one for attention, save for people that I respected, and Tetsu takes that too - starting with Tarou and then Satsuki and then Atsu and Ryou and finally the captain. But before Tarou, he steals my attention. I've still got the spotlight - I'm still the person that scores the most points (triple digits to Tetsu's consistent _zero_) and I'm still the famous "second-year-ace" of the Teikou basketball team.

But he has every_one_ I actually want.

(And - the worst part - I can't hate him because I am drawn - just as much, if not moreso, to his ever-reliable presence on the court.)

But those moments; they're excusable. The fact that he's the reason why I hate a sport I used to love _like nothing in the world_ is not. He's the one who was all smiles and promises, telling me of a person - who existed - who could best me in basketball. Ridiculous, I knew even then, and still, I had believed in him. I had trained harder, had not bothered stopping because _look isn't this fun why don't you like losing_?, and everything that I had felt towards basketball -

It had been transferred without my knowledge, to Tetsu. Before I could even acknowledge it, I _loved_ playing basketball with him; loved running side-to-side, pass-to-pass, front and back as if there was no one else on the court but the two of us (again, again).

Tetsu - of course - takes even that, takes _everything_ with him when he leaves in the middle of the ceremony, ignoring all of all franctic calls, not telling us which school he ended up going to until it was _too fucking late to sign up_ and purposely distancing himself from the rest of us. It feels like a slap in the face - and that's what it is and even now, I still can't accept it, still can't accept the fact that our adoration, our affections and attentions - that _I_ was not enough for him to stay.

Hate him, hate him, hate him - it's the mantra I chanted to myself when our first match was starting up (when I was on the rooftop, trying to convince myself to _hate him_). He's the one who has taken everything from you, he's the one that told you that _surely_ someone existed who you could play all-out against, he's the one who joined a no-name school, looking to topple the Generation of Miracles. They're all legitimate reasons and they shatter like glass against sidewalk when he sees Tetsu again, feeling the all-too-familiar _ache_ in his chest.

Aomine closes his eyes, pressing his lips together. It's alright, he decides, if he still cannot bring himself to truly hate his old Shadow. He just needs to make Tetsu hate him - just needs to make Tetsu hate basketball as much as he himself does - and then, it will be alright.


	17. this saccharine infinity

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17 : this saccharine infinity

"Here," he says, after their first official match together. Kuroko looks at him curiously before accepting the ice-cold water bottle. "It's really hot," Aomine says, as a means of explanation, "You look like you're about to collapse."

"...Thank you," Kuroko murmurs, uncapping the water bottle and drinking. When he's finished gulping the whole thing down - and Aomine has to bite his tongue to stop himself from crying out: 'Hey! I want some!' - he laughs, as if surprised. "I guess I was more thirsty than I thought," he simply says.

"...Idiot," Aomine grumbles, rolling his eyes and lightly thumping the other's head, "Bring your own water for the matches next time."

Kuroko pays him back some months later with a hamburger. Well, actually, it's a bag of hamburgers that Kuroko buys on a whim, when they're walking home from basketball practice one day and Aomine is complaining of hunger after having practiced too much. "For Aomine-kun," Kuroko says, taking out a burger and Aomine thinks he means just that. So he reaches for the burger and Kuroko hands him the _bag_ and he feels his jaw drop.

"Uh... Tetsu... you know that I have to eat dinner after this, right?" he asks, even while he's _inhaling_ burger after burger.

"Yes, yes," Kuroko responds, munching contentedly on his own.

"For you," Aomine says, a couple weeks before their middle school team is crowned triple champions. Kuroko takes the popsicle without complaint and the two of them stroll down the sidewalk, chatting about basketball practices and how everyone - along with the other teams - has been doing. Kuroko manages to amble onto the forbidden topic of Aomine's frequent skipping of practice and Aomine merely grunts noncommittally. He does not think Kuroko would approve if he told him that he was just sleeping on the school rooftop, waiting for Kuroko to be done with practice.

So instead, he tells Kuroko another facet of the truth - how the game is getting too boring for him and he's tired of winning without much effort.

Apparently, this explanation does not suffice either as Kuroko - in his typically subtle-until-it's-_not_ manner - pulls back Aomine's collar and casually drops his freezing cold (and no doubt _licked_) popsicle down Aomine's sweater. Aomine shrieks in a very manly manner and although he hears what Kuroko says afterwards, it's difficult to pay attention when your entire backside is coated with quickly-melting popsicle.

When he walks to his home, he peels off his sweater, extricating the wooden popsicle stick from his shoulder blade (needless to say, whole new levels of _uncomfortable_ were reached) and then, just for the heck of it, running fingers down his back, experimentally licking them.

Then Aomine snickers to himself, because he's a middle-school boy and he finds the idea of sharing an indirect kiss with Kuroko to be hilarious.

The next time anything is exchanged is after the Generation of Miracles, after the miserable Teikou graduation, after that _embarrassing_ match with Kuroko's _pathetic_ new light. They're at an onsen to... he's not too sure why, since no one sure as hell is doing any training (and pretty much everyone else is trying to climb the fence to catch a glimpse of _breasts_) so he walks around until - but of course - he sees a prone form that he already knows to be Kuroko.

The other could never, he remembers, stand the heat or the cold, always passing out at some point or another.

He wishes it were pity that caused him to pop three coins down the vending machine, placing a can of cold soda in front of the semi-conscious basketball player.

And so they play, not directly against one another (no, it can never be like that - _Kuroko_ can never be like that), and with each second that the match continues, he feels something thudding away at his heart until - in the last few seconds, he realizes that it doesn't matter what the score ends up - he needs to practice _like hell_ and he still needs to improve. And then the game does end and the world freezes in front of his eyes because his team - Touou - has lost and Kuroko's team - Seirin - has won.

Kuroko meets up - free of teammates (namely: _Kagami_) and titles and somehow, it feels like the past is years behind them. He holds out an ice cream cone (chocolate, even though his own is vanilla) to his old teammate, face as impassive as ever before. Aomine laughs, throwing his head back and not caring when the bruise-worthy pain hits his skull because he was sitting closer to the wall than he thought. He laughs and he laughs and Kuroko just stands there, taking a bite every now and then from his ice cream cone.

"He's pretty good, I'll give you that," he admits, wiping the tears from his eyes. Kuroko continues to prooffer the cone and, after a brief pause, Aomine takes it, mashing it into his mouth, not caring the least on propriety. "He's nothing without you though," Aomine crunches through the bits and pieces of waffle cone that fall through his wide-open mouth. When he's finished swallowing, he tilts his head back up, looking more at the ceiling than the sky. "Oh man," he says in an almost-grumbling voice, "It looks like I'll have to start seriously practicing now!"

"Aomine-kun - " Kuroko starts, but Aomine's better than that; he stands up quickly, brushing off his shorts and pulling the towel from his face to his neck.

"Tetsu..." he starts, and then turns around, grin wide even if he's still smarting from the loss. "Thanks."


	18. where all roads lead

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takes place in _dreamsofdestiny_'s fantastic "The Age of Champions" (shootswishscore livejournal) universe

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18 : where all roads lead

Three things occur to Aomine Daiki the first time he thinks - quite seriously - about quitting basketball. The first is that he would suddenly have a _huge_ gap of time with which he would have nothing to do. The second is that by the nature of being the Ace of the team, there is no way in hell Akashi would allow him to quit the team. The third is that if he managed to overcome the first two difficulties, without basketball, he would have absolutely no way to interact with Kuroko - they do not have any classes and they do not have any other shared interests.

And so he stays.

The tables turn after he has just chased Kuroko across the streets of downtown Tokyo, having spent a good half hour of his night running until he cannot feel his legs anymore and then, even after that, still pushing onwards. He has no idea how to react when the other is crying and he cannot say anything in-response when his fellow teammate tells him that he hates playing basketball; that he hates playing basketball with Aomine.

His initial knee-jerk retort would be that he hates playing basketball with Kuroko too - and he can't even get his mouth to form the first syllables because it's such a _spitting lie_.

Somehow, he manages to get himself home - from a distance, he thinks that someone might believe the two of them to be two classmates who are walking the same way home. He knows the truth though: this is a build-up to a good-bye and he is helpless in stopping it.

Surprisingly, time manages to fly by (or perhaps the days are just bleeding and melting into one another - he can hardly bring himself to care) and he keeps himself busy replaying Kuroko's confession - "I hate playing basketball with you" ; "_I_ hate playing basketball with you" ; "I _hate_ playing basketball with _you_" - and subsequently falling asleep in class, caring about grades and tests and high school applications less and less as the weeks move at a steady rate around him.

It is Akashi - _of course it's Akashi_ - who ends up orchestrating everything; he is just the idiot who stands moping in the corner. He knows that he is the one who begged the other to convince Kuroko - through whatever methods possible - to attend the same high school as the other members of the Generation of Miracles and all the same, he is jealous because at the end of the summer, the reason why Kuroko comes to Rakuzan is because of Akashi - not himself.

The Kuroko that answers the doorbell that summer afternoon is someone he knows all too well and yet, ultimately, not at all. He wants to make like Kise and convince the other to play basketball again - to at least _think_ about playing basketball again (he wonders if this is how far he has come: to go to the same high school as Kuroko and be unable to play basketball with him) - but his brain is still running a loop of Kuroko telling him how much he hates playing basketball with Aomine. Just like that, their fourty-minute subway ride to the Rakuzan campus passes through in complete silence.

Rakuzan is, ultimately, a dream that is perpetually two feet away from arm's length. He is roommates with Kuroko (who doesn't _say a word to him_ for the first three weeks of school and only after begins monosyllabic conversations which last a couple seconds at best) and he is made a regular on the basketball team without even legitimately trying out (Akashi smiles and continues pulling strings in the background, no doubt) and the dorms are good and the food is fine and - he admits this to Kise after a particularly strenuous practice session - he's _happy_ that Kuroko is at the same school, even if he's not playing basketball.

Still, the dream is _so close_ that he wants to just reach out and drag Kuroko out of his chair, pulling him to the basketball courts and shoving a ball into his open arms. Somedays it _hurts_, looking at the court and realizing that Kuroko is not on it - has not been on it for _months_ and what if he's rusty and what if he really won't ever play basketball ever again?

This is Aomine Daiki at the metaphorical crossroads of life: Kuroko Tetsuya, the only person he'll ever be able to call a 'partner' in basketball, has just showed up out of the blue for practices in the Rakuzan gym after having skipped them for almost two months and he is stuck between being furious and being ecstatic. This is what Kuroko Tetsuya manages to always elicit, without hesitation, without fail: he doesn't need to think about it because already he feels his feet pounding against the floorboards, running towards the other the only way he knows how.


	19. only want your everything

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19 : only want your everything

This is one of the few moments where both your teams meet in a relatively cordial environment: a hot baths site. While your teammates were busy enjoying the steam, Satsuki went off on her own, most likely having gone to antagonize Seirin's coach, leaving you on your own. This is how you spotted Tetsu the first time this evening, giving him a cold can of soda (he has always been prone to fainting; you know this all too well) and issuing a challenge - to him and his insipid new light - for the Winter Cup.

Tetsu affirms the challenge; he is one of the few people you know who _can_ and you nod your head, walking back with a scowl even as you're smiling inside and you assume that this will be the last time you see him before the winter cup.

But of course, Tetsu is one of the few people to consistently defy your expectations, both on the court and off it, and you can't find it in yourself to complain when the paper door to your team's booked room slides open and Kuroko steps in, hair wet and cheeks rosy, damp towel draped around his waist.

And during this time, you are in the middle of eating a full plate of sashimi - the kind with stuffed eel (the kind that no one else will touch) and the accompanying mixture of soy sauce and wasabi is dripping off of your fingers as you freeze and stare at the person who you used to call your 'teammate' - your 'partner'. In a graceful motion, you watch as he slides to his knees a couple centimeters away from where you're sitting.

This is too good of an opportunity to miss out on, you try to tell yourself, even while your tongue is trying to get out the words for 'so you went back into the hot springs?'. You lick your lips, attempting to concentrate on anything else but Tetsu's glistening wet skin - how drops of water roll off his hair, onto your legs, you can't convince yourself to tell him to go away - that you don't want him here.

But - with the same sort of agonizing incapability - you also find yourself unable to pull him closer, to give him any indication of what it is you've been wanting - wanting like nothing you've ever felt before - since middle school graduation. So you sit there, attempting to not notice him (even as your eyes are _drinking_ up every little detail) and somewhere in this moment, Kuroko has taken advantage - most likely without even realizing it - of his inherently 'invisible' nature and you can't react at all when he takes your dirty hand and licks a warm wet line that sends electrical sparks across every aching nerve in your body.

"Tetsu..." you choke out, because your brain is refusing to believe that this is happening - this is Tetsu, Tetsu who always smiled wanely when you kissed his hands, who always pulled himself away when you tried to bring him close for a kiss - and your body is tingling because it has been _so long_ since you've felt his unique touch. 'What are you doing?' you try to get your mouth to say, but it will not listen - just goes on to repeat his name a couple times.

His tongue laps at the small chunks of wasabi between your fingers - you begin to relax as his teeth start nibbling the edges of your fingers; you do not even _know_ that this is what you've been wanting for so long - you have _no idea_ until Tetsu gives it to you, wet lips and hot mouth and _shining_ skin and all.

"Aomine-kun... I've..." he starts, and you feel a heat blossoming somewhere between your stomach and your chest because his tongue is tracing circles in the center of your palm and you can feel his every _syllable_ with the movement of his lips within your hand, "I've missed you so much," he says it like a confession - he whispers it like a sin. In this moment, you know what you want - for the first time in _months_ - and so, you take it, pulling your hand out of grasp, leaning yourself towards his prone form, gently pressing your lips to his.

It's just one night, you know - in fact, it won't even last a night. This is, after all, a shared room. It's just an ephemeral moment that Tetsu, most likely, will forget. All the same, you kiss him like he's the only person in the world; your heart is beating through your chest and you love the taste of wasabi and soy sauce - yourself - in his mouth. It will not last, but it's the most you can get and so, you take it gratefully like a starving man.


	20. a practical solution

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2o : a practical solution

It's a very practical tradition, Kuroko thinks, as he's dribbling the ball from left to right. Playing with an opponent after having beaten, that is. Kise was the first person; entirely by accident. But the thing was: he found that he _enjoyed_ playing with his old teammate, marvelling at how easily the other caught his passes, how effortless it was to coordinate their styles once more.

Momoi was delighted when he called, making sure to note that Aomine was - quite frankly - happier than he had been in years, after he got over the initial bitter taste of defeat. And so, here he stands alone, halfway between Seirin and Touou, wondering if Aomine will show up this particular day. His wristwork needs to be faster; his arms are splaying at his sides too much and his gait is all out of rhythm. And all the same, the feeling of concrete beneath his feet, the coolness of the shade, the laugh of other people - somehow or another, the outdoor basketball courts draw him in everytime.

Oftentimes, the people practicing will not even notice him, going about with his Seirin-issued basketball and practicing his faster passes against the chain links of the fence.

He's in the middle of varying the angles of his acceleration pass when a familiar tan arm loops itself around his neck.

"Tetsu!" Aomine grins, slapping him on the back and stealing the ball from him. Kuroko twitches, but ends up smiling fondly at the other. "Satsuki said I could find you here today," he said as a ways of explanation, eyeballing the basket - which was easily ten meters away - before carelessly tossing the ball in its general direction. Kuroko snickers when the ball doesn't even hit the backboard, sailing right between the poles and bouncing its way to the other end of the fence.

"Good enough," Aomine retorts, rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue. "At least I'm not as nitpicky as Tarou." Kuroko walks with the other as he goes to retrieve the ball, Aomine mimicking Midorima's strange style of speech, "Oh no! A chip on my nail! That means that my shots will be two millimeters off today! I must go buy another ugly cat figure!" It is, he must admit, a decent parody, especially when Aomine flutters his laughably short eyelashes before stooping down to pick up the basketball.

"Aomine-kun," he jokingly reproaches, "If you continue acting like that, it's no wonder you'll never be able to make a three-pointer."

"Oh yeah?" the other retorts, eyes sparkling with the thought of a challenge. He passes a glance through the people playing, before taking note of a relatively decent team of five (assumedly) high school boys. "Oi! You!" he calls, interrupting their three-on-two game to beckon them over. "My friend here doesn't think I can make a three-pointer in a real game so do you want to play the two of us and help me prove him wrong?"

"...Where's your friend?" is the obvious first question. Aomine rolls his eyes, jabbing a thumb at Kuroko.

"Ohhh..." was the general response, along with a couple murmured whispers of, "I didn't even notice him!" and "Is he even tall enough to reach the basket!"

Kuroko twitches, he particularly resents the last comment (moreso because it is - more often than not - _true_ but it's not as if he's not trying to improve!) and grabs the ball out of Aomine's hands. Aomine looks surprised for a moment, before breaking out into an even wider grin. "So?" he asks, eyes taunting, "What do you guys say to a friendly game?"

"Five against two?" the apparent leader of the group of boys asks, raising an eyebrow.

"We play competitively," Aomine replied - as if that were any explanation at all.

"Well... alright..." the leader responded, pulling off his sweatshirt to reveal a jersey underneath that read 'Shinsenkan'. There was a wicked gleam in his eye. "Aomine Daiki of the Generation of Miracles, right? I've heard all about you... how your team lost to some dark horse in the Winter - woah!" His exposition is cut short when Kuroko finds that the ball has slipped out from his hands and accidentally bounced a bit too close to the other basketball player's shoes.

"Still as irritable as always, eh?" Aomine notes, laughing and patting him on the back as the other five players assemble themselves on the other side of the court. "Psh, come on," he grumbles, shaking his shoulders and stretching out his arms, "It'll be just like old times," he assures the other, tossing up the ball. The seven players are then off - it is, Kuroko admits, a once-common sight, where all five players would guard Aomine, letting him steal ball after ball and make pass after pass.

It's strange, Aomine thinks, as he's first zig-zagging through three outraged Shinsenkan regulars and jumping up to make a dunk and slamming the ball resoundedly into the basket, that Tetsu and him still manage to coordinate, even though he's clearly improved and Tetsu's style has changed. But then again, he rationalizes, smiling widely at his old teammate as they thump fists like middle school all over again, Tetsu's style is - first and foremost - complementary.

"Aomine-kun lost," Kuroko blandly states, even as he's showing his rare little smile and bending down to pick up the ball.

"Huh?" Aomine exclaims, pointing to the soundly-beaten team, "But the score was thirty-two to eight!"

"And you didn't make a single three-pointer," Kuroko pointed out, giggling.

"Whaaaa - ?" the other complains, before grinning and grabbing the ball from Kuroko once more. He spins it and the afternoon sunlight hits the basketball and makes it shine in an almost _enchanting_ manner. "Well then," he concludes as the two of them make their way out of the courts, "I guess we have to play again so I can show you a three-pointer, right?"


	21. one chance in a lifetime

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21 : one chance in a lifetime

It is absolutely ridiculous that - somehow - after seven years without seeing him, the two of you would somehow end up in the same profession. You don't speak of him - ever - so when your superior hands you his calling card, asking for the two of you to come together for a professional meeting of some sort or another, you do not bring up the fact that this is your childhood friend; your best friend, really, from your middle school years.

When you call his cellphone, he is absolutely surprised to hear your voice - you've lost contact, no doubt, through these years and the pleasant shock in his voice at having rediscovered you weighs heavy on your heart.

All the same, you ask him if he'd like to meet, anytime in the evening of this week would be fine, for coffee or dinner or something of the sort. You can practically _hear_ his smile on the other end of the line and when you close your eyes, you imagine his unnaturally tan fingers closing their grip on the phone, tightening with delight. He tells you that he would be delighted, that he knows of a quaint little bistro in the middle of the bustling city and that he'll call for reservations as it has a tendency to crowd up come evening.

You smile, telling him that that would be perfect, and you make plans for a time and date. Wednesday at 7:30PM, the two of you decide; you slide your phone into your pocket, typing out his positive response to your superior. He'll be ecstatic you know, and you wonder if you should've mentioned that the two of your were friends, once upon a time.

It's ridiculous, but you find yourself _fretting_ - of all things to be doing an hour before the arranged meeting - because this is important, in more ways than one, to the success of your future and he is an old friend; a dear old friend who happened to drift away after having gone to a high school that was a good two hours worth of driving away. Since it's a bistro, you end up choosing a polo and slacks, leaving off your everyday sunglasses.

Before you exit your one-bedroom flat, you catch a glimpse of your own wanely-smiling reflection in the mirror behind the door. You look like nothing but a dirty liar, and you bite down a laugh during the commute to the bistro. Aomine - and you are counting on this - is more than likely to let affection and nostalgia cloud his judgment.

He positively _beams_ from the reserved two-person table that he's sitting at. You smile back, hoping that your cheek muscles aren't too out of practice. Whatever ends up happening, Aomine laughs, giving you a high-five before passing you a menu. The conversation is easy, effortless; you smile at the brilliant navy blue color that manages to define his hair and eyes and he smiles cheekily when he catches you staring. The two of you pass through dozens of topics: good television shows, day-to-day comics, the weather, how the chef of this particular bistro _really_ knows how to make a good soufflé, how many years it has been since middle school graduation and how life has - in general - been going.

The funny thing is, after the list of possible topics between two old friends has been exhausted _twice_, neither of you ever stray anywhere near the conversation of _work_.

When the chocolate fondue comes - a specialty of this bistro, you learn from a snickering Aomine (who has stolen a chocolate cracker off your plate, smiling while holding it between his white teeth) - Aomine also orders two glasses of Port; it's a sweet wine, but when it slides down your throat, the only thing you can taste are tears.

After he's finished the wine and looking curiously at you - though not questioning your moist eyes - his gaze chances to the window and you see your superior outside. Your eyes widen, and he takes notice of this. A bitter laugh does not suit him at all, you think, but it's the universe who will end up - ultimately - with the last laugh. He tells you that he came here for the same reason as you, that he was happy to see you and that, in the end, he couldn't find it in himself to kill his best friend from middle school.

This is tragedy: when you smile sadly and the tears are falling unfettered from your eyes because you're showing him the now-empty container of poison and he doesn't even have the expectations of you to look _disappointed_, much less betrayed.

You take no comfort in the fact that he dies smiling - you have never thought yourself to be a good friend, after all.


	22. matching blow for blow

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22 : matching blow for blow

It's strange, because he has never thought of Kuroko to be a rival that he would be able to directly compete against - never really thought of the other as a rival at all.

They had been, for the past three years, best friends and teammates and classmates and they had wanted the same thing (victory for Teikou) and had loved the same thing (basketball) and had even ended up hating the same thing (basketball).

This is why it comes as a surprise when the teenage coach of Seirin - in what _their_ coach assumes is a desperate bid for victory though Aomine knows the other school better than that, knows _Kuroko_ better than that - decides to have Kuroko mark him.

Put frankly, the other is still as slow and unstable on the court as he was as a freshman at Teikou; his moves are difficult to read, yes, but that is because he _never_ plans them and, as a result, ends up confusing even his own teammates. And all the same, they are able to understand him, pass for pass, and Kagami is shouting for victory, still jumping all the while and Aomine sneers because Kuroko is a shadow - he still believes - and as a shadow, he is only as good as his Light.

And then Kuroko manages to steal the ball, and suddenly, he's the one with a smile on his lips - incomprehensible as always and Aomine doesn't have time be surprised because his reflexes are screaming at him to _chase after the ball_ and _what are you doing running so slowly_? and so he does.

"I know Aomine-kun the best as well," Kuroko notes, even as Aomine can see his pale skin bruising because of the blow he just gave the other. This is true as well, but he has never thought of it like this - never thought of Kuroko to be like this. And then he's forced back onto the court (_seconds_ haven't even passed) and he watches as Kuroko's captain makes a three-pointer and suddenly, the difference in their scores are gone and Kuroko is smiling all the while.

He growls; this is the first time - since he's played on the court, not counting that _miserable_ match the team had against Rakuzan - that Touou has fallen behind the opponent team. The real problem is that he _has_ been playing seriously, that he's been using every muscle and nerve and not-at-all-controlled reflex to score every possible point and still, it's apparently not enough.

The ball passes from hand to hand; he curls his lips again, some out-of-practice smile, before forcing himself to concentrate, to push his bones and tendons to the limit - he has to win this, he has to win this, the game as no meaning unless he _wins_ (vaguely, he can remember Kuroko - though this was the Kuroko of Teikou - saying something to this extent) so he forces his legs to go faster than before, knocking the ball out of Kagami's hands, sprinting to throw it in the other direction and -

Somewhere in the midst of this madness, he remembers this is what basketball felt like _before_: this is what it felt like to _love_. It's godawful to lose, and still the game holds more meaning to him than it has held for _years_, especially because the difference was a result of skill. All the same, Aomine is forced to recognize for the first time in his life, from the end results of this game, that it's just as _fun_ playing against Kuroko as it is playing with him. It's an alien realization, to say the least.


	23. a tertiary opinion for two

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23 : a tertiary opinion for two

Argh.

He's looking our way again.

I would inform you of this fact, but the last three times I told you, you refused to believe me and busied yourself with _scrubbing your sneakers clean_ which is, on the list of terrible distractions, right next to banging your head repeatedly into a brick wall. But the problem is that if I don't tell you, you won't act all weird and he won't get all _embarrassed_ (because clearly we are not all in the first year of high school but are, in reality, in _kindergarten_ or _something_) and go away.

Me? Distracted? From the hot baths? Of course not - what a silly idea - it's just that the guy who used to be your light that you so fervently deny as being your ex-boyfriend (even though everyone and _their mom_ knows the sordid story of how you two broke up) is looking at me like he would prefer two stakes to be in the place of my eyeballs and that's just the slightest bit disconcerting.

Oh believe me, I've tried everything to get rid of the waves of negativity.

When we play together, I've refrained from bumping fists with you, I do my best to sit a good two spots away from you. Heck, in the games that we play together, I get the feeling that _Izuki_ has said more direct lines to you (if you count 'pass... the... water... bottle...' as four sentences), and still he will not stop shooting not-so-metaphorical daggers my way. Especially when he thinks I'm getting too close (which, apparently, is defined by 'being on the same team as his ex-boyfriend') which is, you guessed it: ALL. THE. TIME.

The worst part about this whole affair - aside from the fact that basketball takes top priority so, you know, the two of you should screw on your angsty soppy heads because we've got a game to play in two days - is the fact that you won't talk to him face to face about it. That you flush and curl up in a ball and then in the middle of the night I hear you _talking to him_ and I'm supposed to wake up next morning and pretend like you're not out of your freaking mind?

So - what I'm trying to get at here - is that you should work up your short, prissy, and invisible self to go over and talk to him. Thank him for giving you that cold can of soda, tell him that you're looking forward to the Winter Cup, _whatever_, just do something. C'mon, I see you're looking in his general direction - and _yesyesyes_ his eyes are redirecting from dreaming up new and improved versions of my death to looking at you and - no, for the love of God, _no_, don't turn your gaze at the last second!

Argh.

...Truth be told, there are a lot of things that impressed me when I finally saw Japanese basketball. The whole Generation of Miracles, for one. Your special drive, for another. The fact that this guy can play when he's got baggage the size of _New York_ on his shoulders is also pretty damn impressive. But the fact that you're just scared or jealous or insecure or something is _not_ impressive. Just go! Stand up! Move your skinny little legs! Go _talk_ to him - your old teammate, your ex-partner, you old Light, your ex-boyfriend - whatever.

Yes, yes, yes, you can do it... slow, steady steps - you just fainted, remember? Doing good, doing good, just keep walking straight, and then - no, no, _no_ what the hell are you _doing_? Fainting at a time like this? Oh well, whatever - seems like he managed to catch you before your empty-save-for-basketball head hit the ground. True Love and blahdablahda ensued. Keeping me up _all night_. Argh.


	24. stranger things can happen

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24 : stranger things can happen

The funny thing about fate is how it works so terribly well in-conjunction with irony. At this point in time, Aomine Daiki is absolutely certain that those two forces of life are either controlled by the same megalomaniacal god, or - on the off-chance that they're actually the manifestations of two different entities - then said deities are absolutely conspiring together. It's, quite frankly, the only logical explanation because he had taken this route home many times before and never once had he chanced upon Kuroko.

'So it looks like I have run out of salt,' Kuroko had thought to himself two hours prior. 'No problem,' he had continued, 'I'll just take the five-block walk to the grocery store... which happened to already have closed... that's alright, there's another supermarket two bus stops away.' That was his reasoning for walking around at 9 in the evening. He had absolutely no idea what was Aomine's reason for doing the same, only that - if the other was going in the direction of his home - they would have to take the same bus.

"...Hey." Aomine reclined his head in greeting. Or at least attempted to, because he swung it with a bit too much force and ended up knocking his ear against his shoulder.

"Hello Aomine-kun," Kuroko was quite impressed by how easily he managed to hide his own surprise (and not-very-deeply-buried feelings of some-degree-of-resentment towards the other for beating his team so soundly in the Interhigh).

Awkward was the word of the hour, apparently, because Kuroko made no attempt to start any form of conversation. He also did not change his pace - and _no_ Aomine was not slowing down to accommodate the other, this was how he _normally_ walked with a throbbing ear, thank-you-very-much - which meant that the two of them were simply leisurely strolling along to the busstop that Aomine _knew_ Kuroko used. Strolling in utter silence.

Kuroko entertained the idea that this was how other people felt around him: unable to grasp a proper topic of conversation and subsequently falling back on stupid actions. He was two syllables away from laughing nervously (or possibly looking surprised... though he hadn't exercised _those_ facial muscles since the Touou v. Seirin match) and then chasing after an imaginary dog. Just to get away.

'What to talk about, what to talk about,' Aomine thought to himself, feeling the weight of his bookbag and wondering why the hell he had decided that today of all days would be a good day to stay late at the public courts and _practice basketball_. He absolutely blames it on Kise - mimicking him to such an extent - and Momoi - for getting him out of the match - and his stupid coach - for listening to Momoi of all people and -

"...been doing?" The punctuation of silence by Kuroko's question lasts for _maybe_ five seconds. Aomine swivels his head to look at the other, attempting to catch the words that he managed to space out on. To no avail, of course. The ensuing quiet is stabbed mercilessly with the sound of their footsteps. Kuroko sincerely considers walking the twenty...seven (and a half!) blocks home.

"Uh..." Aomine reassured himself that he was absolutely capable of pretending to have a conversation with Kuroko even after only hearing the last two words of the question. After all, Kuroko had been his partner through all of Teikou - that had to count for _something_, right? "Playing basketball?" he replied, slinging his bookbag more firmly over his shoulders.

'This is definitely the point where I tell him that I have been playing basketball as well,' Kuroko thought to himself, 'but the problem is that I have _not_ and he is the reason why I have not been playing basketball recently.' This seemed like a uniquely response, so he pursed his lips and nodded... in a hopeful mixture of acknowledgment and interest.

'Okay, so he nodded, or at least I think he nodded,' Aomine, apparently, was also in the process of an extended internal monologue sequence, 'So what am I supposed to do? It's not like he actually replied with anything. Oh shit maybe that's because the only thing he can say is will-you-just-go-away... maybe I should just make a left turn or something...'

And right at that moment, two blocks away, Kuroko noticed the familiar bus 47-N pulling into its stop. "Aomine-k - !" he started, but the other had somehow grabbed onto his wrist and dragged him along like a rickety mannequin for the better part of two blocks. Kuroko wondered if this was how normal high school friends helped one another - running through still-crowded streets and ignoring the traffic signals completely, only to jump dramatically in front of the bus and collapse in it as soon as the doors opened.

"It's always nice," the bus driver noted with a knowing smile, stepping on the gas pedal - and Aomine took note of how they were the only passengers in the first five rows of the vehicle, "To see an older brother helping his younger sibling."

"Oh we're not - "

"This isn't - "

"We're not actually - "

"...Friends..." Aomine croaked out, the foreign word literally oozing out of his mouth. Kuroko turned his head to look at the other, and at the drop of a hat, the two of them started laughing like it was the silliest word in the world.


	25. of a good disposition

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inspired by _narcoleptic95_'s drabbles on livejournal

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25 : of a good disposition

"What - " Aomine begins, though there is no room for questions in his tone, " - the _fuck_ did you just say."

His movements are closer to that of an animal than a man, the third-year basketball player from Touou thinks as he finds himself lifted three inches up, back forced against the wall. The ace of the Generation of Miracles looks him in the eye, another snarl forming across his lips.

"You heard me," the senior calmly retorts, narrowing his eyes and absolutely refusing to back down. At this time, he finds his feet planted solidly against the floor of the gym and the feel of gravity swells his sense of confidence. "Your old teammate can't do _anything_ - "

" - Shut the fuck up!"

"He can't dribble, he can't run, he has no stamina and his arms aren't coordinated enough to make a simple layup!"

"You - "

"He can't even _pass_," the Touou player concludes, a sneer on his lips. Aomine crashes a fist two inches away from the other's face. Like any sane human being, the senior flinches - but he does not back down. "What the hell is the captain supposed to tell him? Just sit on the bench and watch us as we save your pathetic, _useless_ - "

The senior whose name he cannot be bothered to remember finds his tirade cut short when Aomine squarely punches him in the jaw with his already-bleeding fist.

"Say that again," Aomine growls, voice low and breaths deep. "Say that again, you bastard," he repeats, raising his fist to aim another point-blank hit. "I - _hate_ - weaklings - !" he hisses, punctuating each word with a well-aimed kick. "You have _no idea_ what the _hell_ he can do - he's from a totally different - "

"Aomine-kun."

The world freezes and the near-unconscious senior forces his eyes to adjust to the light flooding into the gym. He feels his jaw give way when Aomine freezes and then turns to face his classmate - the one that he so desperately wanted to be on the basketball team, even though his arm was still in a _sling_ - cursing under his breath and pulling both closed fists away from his teammate. Aomine seems to be, the senior notes, anxiously attempting to wipe some of the blood off his hands.

"What are you doing?" Kuroko asks, voice as sharp as a blade.

"..."

"Aomine-kun," the diminutive freshman says again, and the senior cannot believe his eyes when Aomine leaves his presence entirely, feet shuffling in an almost _embarrassed_ manner towards his old basketball teammate. "Do you have basketball practice today?" the other asks instead.

"Not really," Aomine swiftly replies before his senior can do the same. "What are you doing holding my bag? Here, lemme carry yours." He slings both their schoolbags over one shoulder, refusing to acknowledge Kuroko's gaze on the basketball club member's crumpled form. "C'mon, let's go get something to eat," he grumbles, holding open the door.

Kuroko purses his lips, wanting to say something - 'I don't know what happened but I am absolutely certain that our senpai did not deserve to be beat like that' or 'The only thing you know how to do when you're angry is hurt people, huh?' - but unable to find the right thing to say. He breaks eye contact with the Touou regular, nodding respectfully before following Aomine out of the gym.

"Aomine-kun," he says at they're at the crossroads between their houses. "Do not do that again." There is an edge of warning in his voice that Aomine instinctively does not want to heed.

"Do what?" the other retorts, picking his ear and feigning ignorance, "The doctor said you shouldn't be carrying heavy things for at least two weeks."

"Your violent tendencies are one thing, but the fact that you make me out to be a child is something else entirely," Kuroko coldly continues - Aomine feels himself incapacitated with a particularly violent glare. "It is bad enough that I cannot play basketball for eight weeks, I can defend my own integrity."

"But - " _It was all for you ; you don't hear what people are whispering behind your back ; I'm the reason why you can't play basketball for two freaking months ; why the hell won't you just let me take care of you_? - these responses all run their way over the tip of his tongue. He does not say a single one, choosing to bite his tongue and hang his head. "Sorry." It's the first time he's said that word since middle school graduation - it feels just as heavy as it did three months ago.

Kuroko does not accept it, but he doesn't reject it either. He takes his schoolbag from Aomine's outstretched hand, ignoring the way the other hangs on to the strap for a second too long, before turning his back and making his way back home in silence. Aomine watches his retreating figure until he cannot distinguish silhouette from shadow. He raises his once-bleeding hand up, examining the sloppily-tied bandages. He hates it - the irony, the selfishness, the methodology of victory at Touou - but most of all, he hates himself for being the cause of it. Once more, he raises his fist, solidly striking an apartment wall. The searing pain is almost liberating.


	26. painted blue dreamscapes

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26 : painted blue dreamscapes

Sometimes he dreams of Aomine kissing him. The location and reasons vary - whether it's because they just won nationals _again_ or it's simply a lazy weekend afternoon or the world is crumbling at the tips of their fingers - but the kiss is always the same. It's soft at first before becoming insistent, tongue digging in, fingers pressing against Kuroko's shoulder blades. And through it all, Kuroko allows it - wants it, even.

The kiss is always deep and at some indefinite point, it mimics the feeling of drowning.

Drowning - the sensation - causes him to open his eyes and suddenly, he's submerged underwater, arms and legs paddling confidently towards the opposite end of the swimming pool. He pushes himself up against the edge, gasping for air and looks up to see Aomine standing above him, a wide smile planted firmly on his face and a towel hanging from his shoulder. Kuroko always remembers to say thank-you before taking the towel, except then -

The world swirls around him and he feels his eyes relegating themselves to the back of his head because it's him and Aomine again and there's a towel between the two of them.

But Kuroko is now the one who is handing the towel to Aomine, his teammate drapes it over his head, mutters some phrase of thanks and it's only then that Kuroko realizes that he's in his Teikou uniform once again except he's not number 15, as he remembers. No, in this space and time, his number reads 27 and Aomine laughs when he even tries to take the ball. 'What are you doing?' he remembers the other snickering, 'You're not even allowed on the court, third string player!'

Those are the times when he wakes up covered in a cold sweat, breaths short and fingers in a chokehold around his blanket.

Most of the time, however, he dreams of chasing Aomine - whether it be in middle school, high school, or college.

Of course Aomine is the type to run - and run fast. Of course he, like any good runner, will not stop to see who is behind, single outstretched, desperately attempting to catch up. It's been like this for as long as Kuroko can remember, and he's stopped minding. It's just another fact of life: Aomine will constantly be ahead of him - in school and basketball and _everything else_ - and there is nothing he can do but run, run, and then run faster still.

The strange thing is that, at some point, he gives up in the middle of his dreams. Forces his legs to stop crashing through crowds of people - whether they be old classmates or competitors - and sits himself down on the concrete, carpet, or grass. This is when he realizes that it cannot possibly be reality, because Aomine not only _stops_ (as if he's not already a tiny dot in the distance) but he looks over his shoulder at that second and, without any hesitation, doubles back and pauses in front of Kuroko.

'C'mon Tetsu!' the other gaily calls, arm outstretched as if Kuroko had not been chasing him for what seemed like eternity. 'What're you waiting for?'

Without a doubt, he always - always, always, _always_ - takes that hand.

And then he wakes up, pale hand in the midst of contact awkwardly in front of his face and he blinks because: wasn't he just running a second ago?

Standing over the rooftop of one of their high schools, he thinks that everyone looks so _small_ when they're seven stories below him. The sky is a beautiful shade of blue today and he wonders if, for whatever reason, Aomine is seeing the same sky as him. And then he laughs, because Aomine is constantly doing one of two things: sleeping or playing basketball - or, when the world is a dream, running away from Kuroko - and of course there's no time for looking at the atmosphere of all things.

"Tetsu!" he hears the other call. He blinks, eyes snapping open and face turning in surprise. He feels himself tackled against the chain-links of the rooftop fence, two familiar arms snaking out to wrap around him - an equally well-known voice whispering his name again and again.

"Aomine-kun," he murmurs, wondering between the blue of his friend's eyes and the blue of sky - what is it between 'reality' and 'dream' that makes one so much better than the other. "It's nice to see you."

"Stupid!" the other immediately responds, hugging Kuroko all the tighter. "What the hell are you thinking - always running away from me like that?"

Kuroko's eyes widen before he breaks out in soft laughter. It's so strange, he thinks, even as Aomine pressing their hands together and talking about 'tomorrow' like it's supposed to be 'forever'. It's so strange that in the midst of so many realities, they would end up connecting in the one that mattered. And when Aomine looks curiously at his amused expression, cheeks pink and hands firmly wrapped around his wrists, Kuroko feels the universe spin faster and faster and he looks to the sky and - finally - stops running.


	27. on a different scale

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27 : on a different scale

The Generation of Miracles - it's what the five of us have been called since our second year of middle school.

A group of geniuses with talents that you would see only once in a decade - not as a group, but as individuals. At that point, I hadn't lived two decades (or even a single conscious decade) so it was difficult to dispute such claims. All the same, we were heralded as the pinnacle of athleticism, the kings of our middle school.

And the funny thing was: for two too-long years - I earnestly believed in the title.

But when I see him again - see the invisible phantom sixth man that I had called 'partner' and 'friend' and 'teammate' for three glorious years - I see what true genius is, even in the face of unquestionable defeat. I had once laughed at Tetsu because he was, like Tarou, prone to planning and plotting and analyzing and overthinking. I had thought that natural talent (like myself) didn't need any of that. And it was true, to a certain degree, but only to that finite degree. Tetsu, on the other hand, did not stop, _could_ not waver, regardless of his inexperienced teammates and dim new light. I could still see, even if everyone else was blind, the raw _skill_ that he embodied.

There's a quote I can vaguely remember... something along the lines of skill hits a target that no one else can reach and _genius_ hits a target that no one else can see.

That is, in the end, the line where my 'skill' stops and Tetsu's 'genius' begins.

At the beginning of the Winter Cup, when Ryou sends me a text asking excitedly if I 'felt it', I scoff and give some wishy-washy reply. Later - when the data comes back and Satsuki is incredulous (because _how can a high school boy make a lane up_?) and I find myself staring at the storm-ridden clouds - someone, Sakurai probably, asks me how is it that I'm not scared.

There's no appropriate response, really, so I just laugh outrightedly in his face. _Scared_, I want to tell him, but the hysterical laughter will not stop coming out of my chest, _scared of what the fuck exactly_, I want to choke out - because I've seen three-pointers made from the back court, I've watched a two-meter tall middle school boy casually reach up and bat away a dunk, and I've seen a chess match unfold on the basketball court. And through it all, nothing - _nothing_ - is comparable to Kuroko - to Tetsu.

'You're pretty funny, you know that?' I end up saying something along those lines, still chuckling all the way through.

Tetsu is, especially when it comes to his type of 'genius', difficult to describe. I could say he makes use of every situation and every second, but that would be too similar to the Captain. I could say he doesn't need to perfect his unique form of misdirection. It might be in the fact that he doesn't know when to give up because normal ideas of _loss_ and _victory_ don't actually affect his skill. But in the end, it's a combination of natural talent, dedication, and something that I can only pin down as 'love'; it's why he's not so much _my_ Shadow as I was _his_ light.

Still don't understand? It's alright - I didn't expect you to. That's why I didn't even attempt to explain.

He's just on a totally different level, you don't need to doubt that. There's no way I - or anyone, really - can properly compete with him.

Oh _senpai_, you're coughing so violently now... it might have something to do with the knee I've just rammed up your gut because your eyes tell me that you still don't believe me - that you think I'm just being 'soft' on an old teammate. Don't waste your breath attempting to understand _him_; your mind can barely grasp around the idea of a perfect imitation of my moves, what right do you think you have to judge the single person that stood on top of - not behind, not underneath, _on top of_ - the Generation of Miracles?

That's right - you don't.

So I pull myself up from the rooftop, dropping down to the ground and ignoring some minute protests of needing-to-practice. It's not like any of our first matches will be with other members of Teikou, after all. It's not like you guys need me to secure a win. Kagami Taiga - that guy and his jumps... he'll definitely be a more direct challenge. Am I looking forward to another match, Satsuki - you of all people - inquires while on the road to home.

...Something like that, I suppose. It's funny, but the mixture of excitement and pride _almost_ wash away the reverence.


	28. in more ways than one

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28 : in more ways than one

_He's pretty good, I'll give you that. Even if he's not very bright_.

Kuroko is surprised when his cellphone vibrates at the sound of a text. The number is one that he knows all-too-well, but it is not Kise (with his usual encouragements and begging to go on some bonding excursion or another) nor is it Midorima (with his backhanded compliments and snarking bits of help). No, this time - for the first time in he-can't-remember-how-many-months, it is Aomine of all people who is sending him a text.

The Winter Cup has come and gone and with it, the links that he had severed with his old teammates were slowly but surely in the process of repairing themselves. He wishes he could say that it was a truthful surprise, but it is, all in all, a piece in a well-plotted idea.

Nonetheless, Aomine's text comes as a pleasant deviation from 'normal'; Kuroko hides a smile behind his textbook before quickly typing back -

_Says Aomine-kun_.

The teacher of the hour prods a snoring Kagami; Kuroko is thankful, once again, for his diminutive nature. But before the completion of the current lecture on the various weapons of Feudal Japan, Kuroko receives the other's response - this sort of speed, Kuroko thinks, is probably because Aomine is ditching class once more.

_Whaaa? Are you saying that I'm stupider than him?_

_If you continue ditching class, I am certain that even Kagami-kun will have better scores_. It's a low blow, he knows, but it's all for the better in the end. Aomine doesn't respond for a while after that, Kuroko slips his cellphone into his pocket and remembers to poke Kagami into consciousness before the teacher slaps him with yet another afterschool detention. Vaguely, he wonders if he overstepped his boundaries - Aomine, after all, values his own capabilities more than anyone else - but he shoves it out of his mind because a week flies by and so does another, and when he receives another text, this time in the middle of basketball practice, this one reads:

_Tetsu-kun, I saw your text on Dai-kun's phone. Thank you so much for getting him to go to class more often! Even though he falls asleep so often at least his grades are better now! xoxo_

His eyebrows rise in surprise before a slow smile makes its way across his face. Momoi, of course, is still as concerned with Aomine's terrible study habits as she was in elementary school. He sends a pleased reply in-response to Momoi's text while musing how long this sudden streak of actually-going-to-class will last, before putting his cellphone away to concentrate on actually making an unguarded basket.

Later, when he's in the comfort of his apartment, he pulls out his cellphone and finds himself typing out a message to Aomine without even thinking. It reads '_It's nice to see Aomine-kun going to class more often._' It's so terribly out-of-the-blue that he feels the need to tack on '_I would not mind helping if Aomine-kun finds history or geography or Japanese to be difficult_'. Before the weight of his offer sinks in, he finds that his thumb has already pressed the 'sent' button and he's staring at the 'Message Successfully Sent' screen.

Kuroko stares dumbly at the cellphone screen for an extended period of time before snapping it shut, a flush rising quickly to his cheeks.

He cannot - will not - believe himself capable of such a disgustingly _pretentious_ offer. It's the equivalent of - and then his cellphone vibrates and his fingers hurry to flip it open on instinct - and the other's reply flashes on the screen and Kuroko will not believe his eyes even after scanning the contents of the short text three times over.

_Sure_.

All the same, his fingers quickly type out a reply of '_When will Aomine-kun be free?_' and a hastily-added, '_What topics are being covered?_' before sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, staring intently at the 'Message Successfully Sent' screen. The minutes tick by and right when something like three hours have passed by and he's prepared to toss his cellphone aside in not-at-all-frustration, the reply comes: a time and date and a side-note of '_wear shorts_'. Kuroko rolls his eyes; some things, apparently, are incapable of change.

The time and date roll by soon enough and he meets Aomine on the leftmost lot of the public basketball courts in the Metro district of the city. They're both wearing t-shirts and shorts though Aomine has a basketball under his arm and Kuroko clutches three textbooks. Momoi has sent an utterly giddy text message of '_Have fun~~~ 3_' and Aomine rolls his eyes before smiling fondly. They play rock-paper scissors to determine what to do first: Kuroko wins and he flips open the Japanese history textbook with a triumphant sort of grace.

Painful as it is to admit, Aomine is just as bad as Kagami when it comes to books and studying; the other seems incapable of understanding that certain types of punctuation are better for certain situations and while cause and effect are easy to explain, Aomine cannot explain two historical events in writing. Progress is slow, impeded by Aomine dropping everything to dropkick a random highschooler who made the mistake of thinking the two of them to be nerds, but it is there.

The tables are turned some ninety-odd pages later (on subjects ranging from European history, different styles of Yojijukugo, lines of latitude and longitude, and the shape of the larger Middle Eastern countries) when Aomine breaths a sigh of relief and closes the final textbook, snatching up the basketball and giving it a confident twirl. And then it's Kuroko's turn to struggle and sweat - in a more literal sense, of course - as Aomine forces him to defend and attack, punctuating every easy victory with: 'this way I'm teaching you something.'

He gets back home covered in sweat and his textbooks are noticeably worse for the wear and - worst of all - there is a small smile that will not come off his face. Especially not when - after having showered - his cellphone vibrates yet again and the new message reads:

_Are you free next weekend_?

Kuroko is aching all over and even his brain hurts (in his valiant attempt to get Aomine to grasp the concept of prepositional phrases in-relation to past participles) and still, his fingers move on their own - _Yes_. - and his cheeks stretch all the wider when Aomine replies with -

_See you then_.


	29. what hurts the most

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29 : what hurts the most

When Aomine regains consciousness again, he is surprised to see both Momoi and Kuroko huddled over his bed. Vaguely, he can hear a professional-sounding voice - either a doctor or Midorima - talking about statistics and the probability of a full recovery. He strains his ears to make out more but it's of no use - Momoi clutches desperately onto his white-and-sterilized bedsheets and sobs over his bed and Kuroko's face is as placid as he'll ever remember.

The weeks of intensive physical therapy get him to the point where he can walk and jog without the help of crutches - but it's not enough. The therapist tells him while laying a soothing hand on his shoulder (and though he knows that she only wants for him to recover he cannot stop the swell of anger from her touch) with a face that speaks of facts and numbers: there is a chance that he will be able to legitimately run within three months.

He does not remember exactly what he said in response, only that Momoi had to bodily pull him off her.

'You can't do this to me - ' Aomine remembers thinking. 'You can't take that away from me.' He does not know, in between the hatred and the disbelief and the hallow pain that reverberates from his twitching fingers to his shaking knees, how he manages to shake off both his parents and Momoi, forcing himself to swing over walls and duck under gates until somehow or another, he finds himself in front of the public courts of his childhood.

At this point, he has no hope of catching his breath and his raw palms are bleeding and he has no idea what other meaning there _is_ in the world. He sinks to his knees, pressing his head in a position akin to praying atop the rusted iron links of the fence. There is no point, there is no point in recovery if he's unable to jump, unable to sprint, unable to _play_.

So close - so _damn_ close; he had met a rival, a person that could match him hit for hit, beat for beat, shot for shot, someone he had been waiting for for _only_ all seventeen years of his life. He had sworn to practice with more fervency than he had ever felt, laughed with an alien giddiness when his hands _ached_ from handling the ball so much.

He had been, more than anything, looking forward to rematch. And now it is likely that he will never play again.

Someone - Akashi, probably - arranges for Kuroko to visit him a couple days later, dressed primly in his Seirin uniform. Aomine barks out a cold laugh, asks the other if he's come here to laugh and point and _sneer_ because oh, how the mighty have fallen; how the tables have turned.

Kuroko raises a hand to calmly backhand him across the face and Aomine - for the first time in his life - flashes his eyes and pulls back his upper lip and socks the other squarely in the jaw. He takes special delight in the satisfying crunch of skin and bone and blood - likes seeing Kuroko _angry_.

"What the _hell_ do you care?" he screams through a not-at-all-sore throat, muscles _ecstatic_ to be given the opportunity to punch and kick and fight. "You can fucking play!"

It's not so much a battle as it is a flurry of screams and punches and vulgarities from Aomine. In less than a minute, he has Kuroko pinned underneath him on the floor and he wants so much to spit on that frigid expression - just to wipe the ice off his eyes. With a cruel smile, he lifts his old teammate up by his now-wrinkled collar. "Fuck you Tetsu," he grinds out, hating himself for looking away first, for not being able to actually land a decent blow (after the initial punch, that is), for still not truly _hating_ the other. "Fuck you and your shining new Light and your tip-top teammates!"

"If you break my knee I won't be able to play," Kuroko calmly replies, eyes level and breaths even. Aomine, on the other hand, feels his chest heave and his grip give way.

"..._what_...?" he hoarsely whispers.

"You heard me," he says, gaze never leaving Aomine. "If you think that I can't care about you because I can play basketball, I can just as easily throw away that right as you." It's a bluff, the other is obviously kidding; Aomine snorts and in the second that he relaxes, Kuroko takes a deep breath and flips himself out of Aomine's hold, reversing their positions faster than Aomine's almost-recovered body can process. Kuroko's pale fingers wrap themselves confidently around the dark skin of Aomine's neck - loose, threatening.

"It hurts - " Kuroko gasps out, face contorting with emotions that Aomine cannot recognize, " - to see Aomine-kun like this. You were... you were my _dream_ - that spot on the horizon that I would always be chasing after. And now..." he smiles a sad smile, even as his fingers leave his neck entirely, "To think that you think you'll never play again...!"

"I'm _scared_," he confesses, mouth moving to form selfish words of his own volition.

"S'awful, isn't it?" Aomine rasps, even as his arms are looping around Kuroko's shoulders. He feels just as useless and pathetic as he did an hour ago - and still, there is a miserable sort of camaraderie in the comforting feel another person's heartbeat.


	30. falling into your tomorrow

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3o : falling into your tomorrow

The modest white door of the apartment looms over you as you raise a hesitant fist, only to drop it again. You have no idea how many times you've raised your hand only to have it fall back, but a quick glance at your cellphone reveals that you are fifteen minutes late. It's funny, because you clearly remember arriving half an hour early (granted, a good portion of this time was spent pacing in front of the apartment complex and jumping some three feet high when a little kid questioned your 'suspicious behavior').

Nonetheless, you steel your nerves and force your eyes to stay open, raising your curved (and not at all trembling!) fingers to knock on the door. But because the universe has something against you, said block of wood carefully swings open and you realize - belatedly - that your hand was at the perfect height to knock on Kuroko's forehead. He stares at you, big blue eyes more owlish than normal, and you try to communicate to your hand that you would like it down and at your side _this instant_.

Eventually, your hand listens; thanks in part to Kuroko blinking once before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling your hand to waist-level. And then he tells you in a pleasant voice that he's been wondering if he should have waited outside - no of course not you are quick to reassure him (remembering the super-suspicious kids incident) - before stepping out and locking his apartment door.

Was it always this quiet, you wonder to yourself, as the two of you make your way downstairs. Before you had more common topics: classmates, teachers, classes, but even then, Kuroko wasn't much for conversation. He turns to you, asking if there was anything particular that you had planned for today and you shrug your shoulders because while it had been your idea to 'hang out' with Kuroko, that was about as far as your brain got. Basketball, you blurt out instantly and he smiles a small smile before bursting your bubble by noting the absence of a ball.

Cue the two of you making your way up the stairs, into Kuroko's apartment - where your eyes wander from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, unable to believe how incredibly _clean_ his place is (you haven't seen your carpet in _weeks_), and then back down the stairs. Your feet take you to the closest public courts. It was supposed to be a fifteen minute walk, but you manage to make one wrong left turn somehow it ends up taking an hour. And in the midst of striving to ignore the quiet chuckles coming from Kuroko, you cannot help but notice how naturally your footsteps fall into rhythm.

An hour later and the two of you arrive at some public court. It's not the public court you remember playing at, and it's certainly not the same court you had checked up that was within 'walking distance' from Kuroko's apartment, but it _is_ a public court and the two of you _do_ have a basketball so by god you'll be playing a game. Or two or three or four or five. By the third game, some neighborhood kids show up - a gaggle of middle and high schoolers by the looks of it - and Kuroko invites them to play. Well, not before freaking them by appearing out of absolutely nowhere, but that was to be expected.

Although the two of you do not manage to play on the same team - it's no fair, the little brats scream and _of course_ Kuroko blinks and nods and kindly acquiesces - you still get the chance to marvel at Kuroko's improved shooting abilities (and with this admiration you realize that at some indefinite point in time, you have actually come to _accept_ the fact that Kuroko has gone to a different high school and it's all worked out for the better) and roll on the floor laughing when some first-year middle schooler accidentally knocks the ball out of his hand.

The two of you part merrily with the neighborhood kids after eight or nine games (it feels like you've known them for _years_ afterwards and you don't even know most of their _names_), your t-shirts soaked with sweat. Kuroko's wearing some exhausted and ridiculous grin but when you tell him, he smiles wider and tells you that you've got the same exact smile. You roll your eyes and bop him lightly on the arm as the two of you make your way to a nearby fast-food restaurant. He orders his normal burger-and-shake; you take five burgers and two fries and a large soda and refuse to take offense when Kuroko notes that your meals look almost _human_ nowadays.

After finishing lunch, Kuroko takes the lead and directs the two of you to the grassy riverbank of a dam. Only after do you recall that this was the place everyone from Teikou went to to watch fireworks. You plop yourself down in the grass, stretching out your arms and legs and forcing your stomach to stop its insane round of adamant exercising when Kuroko lowers himself to sit next to you, arms splayed on his raised knees, gaze trained on the still waters of the reservoir. Once upon a time, you vaguely know, the two of you did this every weekend: basketball practice, lunch, and then whittling away the afternoon staring into space.

You don't remember exactly what you talked about - school, basketball, other people, probably - only that at some point the two of you argued quite vehemently about whether or not a cloud looked more like a lion or an antelope. The sun is already making its way down and your cellphone tells you that it's six 'o clock and still, the afternoon seems to have flown by when Kuroko stands up first, holding out a hand for you to take. And then he whispers your name - like only he can do - and smiles and you want to tell him that it's been far too long since the two of you have hung out like this except he beats you to chase: pale fingers pulling up your tanned hand, telling you that he missed you.

See you later, you tell him at the bus stop where the two of you go your separate ways. Awkwardly, you raise a hand to wave at him and he does the same. See you later, he replies in-turn and five hours later you end up falling asleep with a stupid grin on your face because it's a promise.

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_fin_.

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Thank you for reading this small archive of stories. I really enjoyed writing them everyday for thirty days (even though some of them made me cry) so I hope you derived some pleasure from them as well! If you're still thirsting for more _Kuroko no Basuke_ fanfiction, then I would recommend the livejournal community that I help moderate, shootswishscore. I adore this series and its cast of characters so you'll definitely hear from me (via review) if you happen to write fanfic!

xoxo, _classically cliche_ (aka _rainierdays_ at livejournal)


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